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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25465456">Certain as the Sun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman'>the_genderman</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Artist Steve Rogers, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexual Sam Wilson, Asexual Steve Rogers, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Bucky Barnes/Daniel Souza, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Knight Sam Wilson, M/M, Magic, Villain Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:54:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,888</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25465456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Incapable of love, no better than a beast.</i> Steve couldn’t even remember his own name, so how could he ever learn to love someone well enough to break this curse?</p><p>Horseless, Sam is lost in the mountains with snow approaching. The castle is decrepit and abandoned. It doesn’t look safe, but neither does staying out in this weather.</p><p>Two paths cross, two lives change, an ace SamSteve Beauty and the Beast AU.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The Howlers are the Howling Commandos renamed slightly to feel more fantasy-appropriate. </p><p>The time period is “vaguely that of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, but not keeping strictly to canon and a lot gayer.”</p><p>----------------</p><p>I'm not great at tagging, so if there's something you think I've missed that should be there, please do comment. But only about tags. I'm rather happy with this story how it is and will not be taking suggestions.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Steve begins the fic feeling “broken,” like the absence of sexual attraction is a flaw since he hasn’t encountered anyone else who admits to feeling like he does. This fact is weaponized against him by Hydra. It may be a bit uncomfortable to read, but it gets better.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve picked up the poker and prodded the fire, watching it flare up and avoiding the question. He kept his eyes down, and the red on his cheeks could have been from firelight, liquor, or shame.</p><p>“Steve, please, say <i>something</i>,” Bucky whispered, his voice growing higher with distress. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said it, I’m sorry, please. Please, say something, <i>anything</i>. Tell me to leave and I will. I don’t want to be a distraction.”</p><p>Lifting his head and listening, Steve caught the faint sounds of snores through the inn’s thin walls. The rest of the Howlers were asleep in their rooms, a little the worse for alcohol and celebration. He and Bucky had been friends since childhood, brothers in arms, as close as lovers. Perhaps that had been the problem. Perhaps he had led Bucky on, let him read things in their friendship that could never be. Steve knew what love was. He knew the love of family, the love of friends, the love of comrades. He also knew that there was an emptiness inside him where another love should be. He had seen it in others, a look in their eyes, the way they held their bodies, a magnetism. He had never felt that pull, never desired to be more than friends. Why <i>couldn’t</i> the love of friendship be good enough? </p><p>He closed his eyes and exhaled, letting the anger, the frustration flow out of him. Bucky was his friend, and he did love him, just… not in the way Bucky hoped.</p><p>“It’s not your fault,” Steve answered, trying to keep his voice even, trying to keep the emotion from cracking through it like the wood in the fireplace. “I love you as a friend, and I’m so sorry for leading you on, whatever I did. I wish I could say yes, I feel the way you do, but I can’t. I… I don’t know if I’m made that way.”</p><p>“Not made that way?” Bucky asked, sitting back down heavily on the edge of his bed. “I don’t understand. Doesn’t everyone want someone to love? Someone to love them?”</p><p>“I <i>do</i>,” Steve said more firmly, his hand tightening again around the grip of the poker, grounding himself. He shook his head. “I don’t know how to say it. I do, but I don’t. I don’t want to be alone. I love you, I love my family, all of my friends, but I don’t feel what you do. And it’s not your fault; there must be something missing inside me, an emptiness where that kind of love should be.”</p><p>Bucky pursed his lips and made a contemplative sound. Steve looked up at him, eyes tracing the lines of his body as he sat and thought. Bucky rolled the fingers of one hand over the knuckles of the other, the barest hints of the turmoil inside him slipping out. In the dark, in the firelight, Bucky made a striking image. He was handsome, no doubt about it, but he had never stirred those deeper feelings within Steve. No one ever had.</p><p>“I don’t want you to go,” Steve said more softly. “You’re my friend and we need you. <i>I</i> need you. And I swear, I won’t say a thing about this if you don’t want me to. I can pretend like it never happened if that’s what you need.”</p><p>The fire popped and the floorboards creaked softly. There was only the sound of the fire and the inn and their breaths between them.</p><p>“I don’t think there’s anything empty inside you,” Bucky said, finally finding his voice again. The distress had gone, replaced by a sort of hopeful sadness. “If you say you don’t feel love like I do, then it’s only because you’ve filled yourself up full with other kinds. And who am I to say that you’re wrong for that? We should probably get some sleep now, and not speak of it in the morning. If the intel we won today on where the Red Skull’s hideout is is true, we’ve got a busy few days ahead of us.”</p><p>Steve smiled up at Bucky and nodded.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>----------------------------</p>
</div>“You’ve got nowhere to run,” Steve yelled after the wizard as he reached the top of the southwestern tower, climbing through the hatch, shield braced over him. There was nothing but the bare stone of the tower and sky above them, the castle overhanging the valley below.<p>“Who says I’m running?” the Red Skull shot back, turning to face Steve. He planted his feet in the center of the tower and mumbled a spell, shooting a bolt of energy that exploded as it hit Steve’s shield.</p><p>“You’re surrounded, your castle is overrun, your followers are fleeing,” Steve answered, drawing his sword and fighting his way forwards against the magical energy pushing back against his shield. “And you’re weakening. You can’t keep this up forever; even magic has its limits.”</p><p>“I am the greatest wizard this world has ever seen,” the Red Skull snarled. His words were strong, but his voice was weakening, his breathing growing heavier. “I can make magic do whatever I need it to do. I have no limits!”</p><p>“Surrender now,” Steve shouted, darting glances around his shield, trying to find a gap, a weakness in the Red Skull’s casting.</p><p>“Never!” the wizard shouted back.</p><p>The Red Skull clapped his hands together in a burst of energy and drew them apart slowly, as if he was pulling dough. The point of light between his palms flashed and grew, forming a cube, glowing blue and pulsing. Sweat beaded up on his forehead, making his magic-scarred face seem even more skull-like. Steve tried to move, tried to rush forward but he felt as if he were rooted to the stone. All he could do was watch as the magical cube grew larger and began to spin. The Red Skull laughed and raised his hands, lifting the cube into the air. Steve braced himself, crouching behind his shield. He had to protect himself until he could find the strength to move.</p><p>A whoosh of air and the Red Skull howled. The blue cube exploded in a burst of wind and thunder, the crackle of magic rippling over Steve and buffeting his shield. As soon as the wave passed, he leapt back to his feet and froze when he saw the scene laid out before him. The Red Skull stood, crouched over, clutching his arm in pain as blood flowed down his arm and hand, splattering the stone. One section of parapet had been blasted to rubble and a man lay crumpled against the broken wall.</p><p>“Bucky!” Steve gasped and sprinted forward. He dropped to his knees and checked Bucky for injuries, helping him back to his feet. “Are you ok? What happened? When did you get here?”</p><p>“No time,” Bucky grunted as he tried to regain his balance, hand pressed against his head, “finish him off before he recovers. I only broke his concentration.”</p><p>Steve hesitated for a moment, but turned back to face the wizard. He raised his sword and charged in. The Red Skull retreated a few steps and countered with a burst of quick, relatively weak spells. Steve dodged, trying to reach his enemy, to disable him, prevent him from spellcasting, to capture him and take him to face justice before the King. One arm already hung limp and bloodied, if he could be…</p><p>The momentary distraction was all it took. There was another burst of magic and a scream. Steve wheeled around, just in time to see the spell catch Bucky square in the chest and knock him over the broken edge of the tower. Steve roared in anger and pain. He dashed to the parapet, hoping beyond hope that maybe Bucky had caught a stone, any handhold, but as he looked over the edge, he saw nothing. His vision went red as he spun around and charged. The Red Skull stood panting, the concentration required to channel his magic leaving him exhausted. He gasped and laughed. Steve slammed his shield into the wizard’s chest and knocked him onto the stones. He drew his sword and held the point, shaking slightly, at the Red Skull’s throat.</p><p>“Go ahead, kill me now,” the Red Skull taunted, his breathing labored. “He died for you and I can see it in you, you do not mourn him. He loved you and all you feel is rage. You are incapable of love, no better than a beast!”</p><p>Steve gritted his teeth and his sword broke skin. The Red Skull merely laughed.</p><p>“That’s not true,” Steve hissed, his entire focus on the Red Skull’s mocking grin.</p><p>“Oh, but it is,” the Red Skull laughed. His left hand moved slightly, drawing a sigil on the stone. “Kill me now and let your heart prove itself. Kill me now as you killed him—”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-----</p>
</div>Bucky’s vision swam, lights flashed and dazzled as he tried to stay conscious. He could hear the Howlers whispering as they bound his injuries, but he couldn’t make out their words. Not a good sign. They weren’t sure he was gonna make it... But he had to hold on, he had to tell them Steve was up there with the Red Skull, that Steve needed their help more than he did. He groaned, trying to speak.<p>“Shh, save your energy, we’re going to get you back to the village. They’ll patch you up when we get there, but now you need to rest,” Jim said, squeezing Bucky’s hand.</p><p>“But Steve’s up there…” Bucky mumbled.</p><p>“Who?” Jim asked. “Up where?”</p><p>“Steve… in the castle, he’s up there,” Bucky said again. Maybe he wasn’t speaking clearly enough.</p><p>“In the castle?” Jim asked, confusion in his voice. “Why would anyone be in the castle? It’s been abandoned for centuries, there’s nothing worth anything in there.”</p><p>Bucky struggled to sit up. Catching sight of the castle, he gasped and fell limp with surprise. The castle was no longer pristine gleaming stone, but a blackened ruin, aged by wind and snow, towering precariously over the valley.</p><p>“What… happened?” Bucky asked, trying to keep hold of his thoughts. His memories wheeled and twisted, falling away like snowmelt.</p><p>“We were on patrol,” Jim explained. “We were up on the cliffs and you caught a bad step, fell down the cliff.”</p><p>Patrol? Bucky thought. He supposed it made sense, but hadn’t there been something else? His head hurt, his heart hurt, his whole body hurt. Maybe he had imagined it. Maybe he had imagined Steve. He didn’t <i>think</i> he had, but if he had hurt his head in the fall, who was to say? He slipped back into blissful unconsciousness.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-----</p>
</div>The ripple of magic spread out over the valley, dissipating as it seeped into the stones and trees and every living thing it could reach, twisting memories and reshaping bodies. The Red Skull died, his last spell rushing out of his body like his blood. The band of brothers carried their wounded back to the village, Hydra defeated but their mission forgotten. On top of the tower, a beast rose to his feet, howled in pain and rage, and descended into his cursed castle. His mind overwhelmed by the spell, he retreated into his lair to wait, for what he didn’t know.
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tying his horse’s reins around a branch, Sam pulled out his map and found a flattish spot on the ground to lay it out on. Faucon snorted. Sam patted her nose reassuringly and found half an apple in his pocket for her. He sat down and traced his path along the parchment. The village <i>should</i> be around here somewhere, assuming the map was correct. He lifted his hand to the horizon to gauge the sun, looked back at the map, and recounted his travels. He had followed the main road for five hours, come to the crossroads marked on the map, and taken the second branch. He had followed that road for four more hours as it grew fainter and wilder. </p><p>Few people traveled to the village, but Sam had contacts he needed to meet. The Court’s intelligencers suspected that the cult of the Hydra had taken root again in secret places within the land, so Sam had been sent on a mission to find the Howlers and find out everything they knew about Hydra from their legendary battle with them seven years ago. The only problem was that the Howlers had faded into a sort of legend themselves. They had defeated the Red Skull and thoroughly disappeared from the public eye. One rumor said that they had done it to avoid the fame and fans. Another, less friendly, rumor said they had deliberately withdrawn from society and hidden themselves because of shame for the things they had had to do to defeat such a powerful wizard. Both could explain why so few people had seen them over the ensuing years. Sam tried to put that thought out of his head. It had taken him three months to discover their village, and he wasn’t about to let rumors send him astray. He was a Knight Errant of the Court, it was his duty to find the facts, find the Howlers, learn everything he could about Hydra from them, and then return to the Court to share his knowledge with the other Knights and the intelligencers.</p><p>But per the map, he <i>should</i> have reached some kind of settlement by now. Unless the map was wrong about this. It had served him well over his travels, but it had <i>also</i> placed Cooper’s Shoulder three miles upstream from where it actually lay. And didn’t include the oxbow on the river. He squinted up at the sky, gray clouds passing in front of the sun, back down at the map, and sighed. Maybe a couple hours of sunlight left, another hour’s ride down the road, if he could even call it that anymore. The air had been growing steadily colder as the day progressed and the clouds moving in looked unfriendly. If he was going to have to face the first snow of the season, he would much rather do it within the snug walls of a village inn than in his little tent in the mountains. And he was pretty sure Faucon would appreciate the inn’s stables, too.</p><p>A gust of wind rustled the trees and caught the map, nearly blowing it away. Sam scrambled to his feet and pounced on it, accidentally tearing it as it snagged on a rock. He cursed to himself and held the pieces close to him until the wind died down a little. Holding the pieces out to survey the damage, it wasn’t a disaster; both parts were still fairly clear and the tear was clean, but it was another bit of bad luck he didn’t particularly want to deal with. Perhaps when he reached the village, he could find someone with better sewing skills to stitch it back together. He could mend his clothes and tack well enough, but mending a map needed to be a far more precise job than he had the patience for. He lay the pieces over each other, carefully rolled them up, and slid them back into their case. As he turned back to his horse, a snowflake landed on his cheek. <i>Great</i>. This was <i>exactly</i> what he needed. He hurried to put his map away in his pack. </p><p>Another gust of wind, even colder than before, and Faucon reared up, ears swiveling and whinnying in distress. Sam darted out of range of the flailing hooves and tried to calm her, approaching again slowly.  </p><p>“Easy girl, it’s just the wind,” Sam said soothingly. “And we’ll be out of the wind before you know it, tucked away nice and warm in the village. We’re almost there. See? That’s it. Nice and easy.”</p><p>Faucon snorted, the whites of her eyes still showing. Sam stroked her neck, speaking soft and low, trying to calm her. She snorted again, but her ears returned to a calmer position. Alert, but not wildly fearful.</p><p>“Alright, just gonna get this put away and we’ll get back on the move, get away from whatever you don’t like here,” Sam said, walking slowly to his pack and opening it to slide the map case in. </p><p>The wind rose again, swirling Sam’s riding cloak around him and spooking Faucon again. She reared and snapped the branch holding her reins. The open pack spilled its contents onto the ground and Faucon bolted, stampeding down the trail. Sam sprinted after her, hoping beyond hope that she would calm down before she lived up to her name. A fast horse was a benefit until she got loose and frightened. Sam ran until he was out of breath, watching his horse disappear down the twisting mountain path. Pulling himself back together, he climbed slowly back to the tree where he had stopped. Maybe at least <i>some</i> of his supplies hadn’t blown away when they had tumbled out of Faucon’s pack.</p><p>More snow was falling as Sam picked up the last of his possessions and wrapped them up in his riding cloak. This was not how he had planned to spend the evening. The way he saw it, he had two options: Follow the trail that Faucon had taken and hope the village was just further along than the map had promised, or turn back and take shelter at the abandoned castle he had passed about fifteen minutes’ ride back. He would be fighting the weather and the sinking sun to find shelter. He set his jaw, steeled his resolve, and turned back. The castle looked like it hadn’t been inhabited for a long time, but it would at least provide shelter from the wind and snow, and maybe there would be enough detritus left to build a fire to keep him warm. Better to shelter there for the night and have daylight to try to find the village on foot than to gamble his life on finding it before sunset tonight.</p><p>Sam began the trek.</p><div class="center">
  <p>-------------------------</p>
</div>“Hey Jim, that’s a fancy-looking horse you’ve got there,” Bucky called out from his garden as his friend crossed the village green back to his inn.<p>“Yeah, found her wandering around riderless,” Jim said, pausing to chat as Bucky left his house and jogged slowly over. “She’s a beaut, but I don’t know why she’d be out this late. She certainly doesn’t belong to anyone here in town and it’s not like we get a lot of visitors.”</p><p>“Any identification, any way to tell who she belongs to?” Bucky asked, reaching up to reach into the pack on the back of her saddle. </p><p>The horse danced to the side and threw her head. Bucky jumped back, jerking his hand free from the pack, twisting his wrist a little. He hissed at the pain.</p><p>“Whoa there,” Jim said to the horse, reaching up to stroke her nose. “Don’t hurt Bucky, he’s only got the one good arm, he needs that hand.”</p><p>Bucky made a surprised sound as he opened his hand to see what he had managed to grab from inside the pack. A torn scrap of paper or parchment, a few words legible on it.</p><p>“What’ve you got there?” Jim asked.</p><p>“Dunno, part of a letter?” Bucky said, turning the paper carefully over between his fingers to read it. “Something about ‘talk to the’ and ‘Hydra’ and that’s all this little scrap has. Hydra? Weren’t they…?”</p><p>Jim looked pensive. “I thought they were all gone, dead or in prison. After their wizard died, they all surrendered pretty quick. I haven’t heard that name in years. Your husband, he was a soldier. He fought against Hydra, didn’t he?”</p><p>“Yeah, he did,” Bucky answered. “I could ask him what he knows about them and why someone might be asking about them now. We could stop by in the morning so he can get a look at this horse.” </p><p>“I’ll come to you,” Jim replied. “She looks like she’s used to regular exercise, so I’ll have to take her out for a good walk tomorrow. It won’t be any trouble to stop by. I know his leg’s been bothering him, and I wouldn’t want to put him out.”</p><p>“Yeah, thank you for that. And I dunno why someone would have a letter about Hydra, but when they come back looking for their horse, I’ll keep this bit safe for them,” Bucky said, putting the scrap carefully into his pocket. “I’ll hang onto this, you get that horse put up safe. Animal that nice, she’s got to belong to someone important.”</p><p>“Yeah. I’ll see you in the morning,” Jim nodded and headed off to the stables.</p><p>A little ways down the street, a window slid shut. The listener was intrigued. Talk to who, and tell them <i>what</i> about Hydra? Was that scrap of letter meant for a friend or foe of their organization?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The door creaked and scraped against the flagstones of the castle’s entry hall as Sam pushed it open. The snow was coming down in flurries now and the temperature was falling as night arrived. It had taken him longer than he had hoped to get up here, and the castle appeared to be in exactly as much disrepair up close as it had from a distance, but it <i>was</i> sheltered from the wind and weather. His boots stirred up little clouds of dust with every step further into the hall. All the lamps and sconces were long cold and the tapestries were faded and moth-eaten. Sam shuddered, unsure if it was the cold or some sense of dread that had seeped into the very marrow of the castle over the years of abandonment. He pushed on.</p><p>The hall opened into a once-grand rotunda, faded with age. Doors, some closed, some warped open, punctuated the room, and a great staircase stood opposite the entry hall. Sam slowly scanned his surroundings, nearly jumping with surprise when he caught the flicker of a light through one of the open doors. Was there someone living here? Another lost soul? A hermit, withdrawn from society? Bandits making this their hideout to prey upon unwary travelers? He drew his sword and moved quickly and quietly to investigate the source. </p><p>Peering through the doorway, Sam looked over what must have been the kitchen. There was a long wooden table, still in decent shape and surprisingly clean. In the hearth, a fire crackled, warming a hanging pot. Hearing no movement and seeing no one, Sam slipped into the kitchen and took in his surroundings. The kitchen was warm and felt almost lived-in. The pot in the hearth was wafting a mouthwatering smell of some hearty stew and Sam was made forcefully aware of how hungry he was and how plain his travel rations were. It could be some kind of a trap, but the scent of food was intoxicating. He emptied his possessions from his cloak onto the table to move easier and sheathed his sword. He drew his dagger, keeping it ready in hand as he approached the hearth. </p><p>The stew looked simple but smelled heavenly after his travels. Sam stared wistfully at the simmering pot before turning back to the table to get his cup and spoon to serve himself. As he turned, he gasped out loud. Sitting on the table, as if <i>waiting</i> for him, were a solid wooden bowl and a matching spoon, both carved with delicate vines. They had definitely not been there before—there was some sort of magic at work here. Sam took a step back from the hearth and immediately began debating the pros and cons of leaving the castle and trying to build himself an emergency shelter in the dark and snow. Magic was not something to be casually toyed with. If the castle was providing him food and shelter, he had to ask himself <i>why</i>? Was this some kind of fairy trick, feed him their enchanted food to keep him under their thrall? Maybe this was why Faucon was so spooked? Horses could be very perceptive animals, and a magic castle certainly did count as “spooky.” </p><p>Sam’s stomach growled audibly, distracting him from his train of thought. Well, perhaps he could fill the bowl and consider that. If he was able to sit and wait and weigh the options long enough for the stew to grow cold and unappealing, he would simply leave it be. His travel rations may be limited, but they <i>weren’t</i> fairy-food, that was for certain. He picked up the bowl, turned back to the stew-pot, and reached for the ladle.</p><p>A bestial roar-howl rang through the kitchen, echoing off the walls, distorted and twisted in anger. Stew splattered to the ground and the bowl clattered against the hearthstones as Sam leapt back, dagger in hand and heart racing. He hadn’t checked for other entries to the kitchen. He <i>should</i> have known there would be more, but it was too late now. A knight should be ready for anything but he had been caught off his guard. Things had been far too calm, too easy, too <i>boring</i> for his days of travel, and he had been lulled into a false sense of security.</p><p>“Who’s there?” he called out of habit. Were there bears in these mountains? He’d never had to fight a bear before and hoped he wouldn’t have to now.</p><p>“Who are <i>you</i>?!” a voice growled in reply.</p><p>Sam turned toward the doorway, quickly sheathing his dagger and drawing his sword, fighting down the fear inside him. Bears didn’t speak, or at least no bear he had ever encountered did. Who knew, though, in this place? He sincerely hoped it wasn’t a wizard. Every royal court had a wizard if they could find one, but outside of that, they were rare. Magic was a stubborn, difficult thing to control, taking great discipline and strength of will to keep it from taking paths and expressions the wielder never meant it to. It tired out the undisciplined until they made lethal mistakes, or drove them mad with the power it offered. If he had to face a wizard powerful enough to spook Faucon from all the way back on the trail <i>alone</i>…</p><p>Footsteps and shadow and then a huge figure stepped into the firelight. It stood like a man, shaped almost like a man, but also like some hideous cross between a wolf and a baboon. It was covered in the shaggy blond fur of an animal, but also the tatters of very human clothing, like it was caught between worlds. Its—his—eyes were a piercing blue and they fixed themselves on Sam. The beast roared again, showing long, wicked fangs.</p><p>“Who are you? What are you doing here?” the beast interrogated, his voice rough as if he was unused to speech.</p><p>“Uh, I… shelter for the night,” Sam said, his words failing him as the beast strode closer to him. The monster had to be at least eight feet tall, maybe bigger. Sam stepped back, sword out and ready, trying to keep some distance between them. He was sure the beast could hear his heart hammering in his chest. He was a trained knight, he shouldn’t be this scared of an animal, even a monstrous one such as this, and <i>yet</i>. Nothing about this castle, this beast, this encounter, felt <i>right</i>.</p><p>Everything about the creature spoke of evil magic, a crime committed against nature when it was birthed or created. Sharp, curved wolf-claws on long, dexterous monkey’s fingers. A face whose image shifted between canine and simian, the two too similar already, like the flickering of candlelight. An animal twisted and molded into the shape of a man.</p><p>“You shouldn’t be here,” the beast continued, circling the table after Sam.</p><p>“Yeah, I’d rather not be here either, but I am,” Sam said, hoping to bluff the monster.</p><p>The beast howled, leapt forward, and quickly grabbed Sam’s sword flat between his palms, yanking it out of his grasp. Leaping onto the tabletop, the beast shook his head with a growl, toes splayed and claws digging into the wood. The sword bounced off the wall, skittered across the floor, and came to rest behind the beast.</p><p>Dropping all pretense of being able to talk his way out of the situation or get his sword back, Sam gave an undignified yelp and sprinted through the doorway and across the rotunda. Better to retreat than die here; he still had his mission to complete. He’d have only seconds to decide: should he flee this accursed place into the snow and the night and try to build a shelter with nothing but his cloak and dagger, or should he run deeper into the castle and hope he could find somewhere to barricade himself in for the night?</p><p>A screeching roar and the beast burst through the doorway. Sam made the decision <i>not</i> to try to get past him to the hall and freedom, instead charging up the grand staircase and through the first set of doors that weren’t warped in place. He slammed them shut and heaved the wardrobe over to block them off. A <i>bedroom</i>. He had managed to find a <i>bedroom</i> after all this. A pounding on doors brought him back to the present and he looked around the room, trying to figure out what other furniture he could add to the barricade. The doorknobs clunked as the beast tried and failed to open the doors.</p><p>“Well, if that’s what you want, so be it!” the beast snarled.</p><p>Sam stood alert and listened as the beast’s footsteps receded, waiting for them to come back and for him to try to break in again. Silence. Nothing but the wind outside the windows and his own pounding heart. Exhaustion washed over him, supplanting the fear and excitement of only a few minutes prior. Still holding his dagger, he collapsed into the bed, fighting vainly as sleep took hold of him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam jolted awake, tired but immediately alert, force of habit of sleeping in an unfamiliar location. The night had passed restlessly, full of faint dreams that evaporated like mist as soon as the light of day touched them. He sat up in the bed, stretched his stiff limbs, and looked around his surroundings in the light. The bedroom was dirty and faded, the bedding torn, pillows leaking feathers. The room smelled stale and a little damp. The wardrobe he had shoved in front of the doors was solid, but the paint was peeling. The window panes were filthy and crusted with dirt, but they were thankfully intact. Outside them, snow had collected on the window ledges overnight. He walked over to the windows to get a better look.</p>
<p>Fog lay heavy on the ground, obscuring the depth of the snow, but the sky seemed clear and if the collection on the ledge was accurate, then he shouldn’t have too difficult of a hike through the snow on the ground. If he could get back to the kitchen, if his things were still there, if his <i>map</i> was still there, he would gather them up and leave this place. Anything would be better than staying another night in this castle with its beastly inhabitant, even doubling back to the last village he had passed. It would be a cold, rough few days on foot, but he was confident he could make it if the weather held. It was too early in the season for much snow, and he had to hope last night’s was just a fluke. If he was quiet enough, if he was alert enough, he could avoid the beast and make his escape. He heaved the wardrobe back away from the doors and turned the knob.</p>
<p>The door didn’t move. Sam tried again, shoving the door with his shoulder, wondering if it had stuck because of the temperature or unaccustomed use. Still nothing. He stepped back, took aim, and landed a solid kick with the heel of his boot. The doors remained shut. </p>
<p>“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” came a voice from outside the doors.</p>
<p>Sam leapt back, startled. It was the beast’s voice, but he hadn’t heard him approach. Had he been there all night, waiting?</p>
<p>“Why not?” Sam asked, wary.</p>
<p>“You’ll just tire yourself out; they’re locked,” the beast answered. His voice sounded almost weary, the rage of the night before gone.</p>
<p>“I thought you said I shouldn’t be here, that you wanted me gone,” Sam asked, anger seeping into his tone. “If I don’t belong here, why did you lock me in?”</p>
<p>“You made the decision to stay,” the beast replied.</p>
<p>“I didn’t agree to this. Let me out!” Sam shouted at the beast.</p>
<p>“No, I don’t think I will,” the beast huffed.</p>
<p>“So you’re going to leave me in here without food and water?” Sam asked.</p>
<p>“The castle provides,” the beast explained enigmatically.</p>
<p>A shuffle, then footsteps receded and he was alone again. Sam groaned and sat down on the edge of the bed, putting his head in his hands. He watched as a bowl of porridge and a cup of water materialized out of the air onto the little table next to the bed. The life of a Knight Errant was never going to be an easy one, but somehow <i>this</i> had never come up. </p>
<p>Sam had joined the Knights Errant of the Court not out of some sense of duty or desire for glory, but to try to ground himself again, left untethered after a failed marriage. He had married young out of a sense of obligation. His bride was a charming young woman, bright and full of fire. She had been Sam’s friend from childhood, and he thought if he had to marry, then better someone who <i>knew</i> him. And he had tried to be a good husband, a good friend, but it never felt quite <i>right</i>. Eventually, they had sat down together and decided that they should separate, and perhaps Sam had a different calling that he hadn’t discovered yet. If he had a religious bent, a monastery might want him—the vow of celibacy didn’t seem like it would be much of an issue for him. That last bit had stung. Though the words hadn’t been cast as a weapon, they had hit like a barbed arrow. A divorce had been granted, but his family hadn’t been quite the same after. They still loved him, of course, and perhaps he was seeing himself through his own clouded eyes, but he felt like they were disappointed in him. If a man couldn’t handle being married to a woman who he already loved as a friend, then what other flaws was he hiding?</p>
<p>He left home. He promised to write whenever he was able, to keep his family up to date with what he was doing, but he had to leave, had to figure out who he was and why what should have been an ideal marriage had failed. After a period of soul-searching, Sam had gone to the Court and been inducted as a Knight Errant, bound to serve the King and protect the land wherever he may be sent during his tenure. Marriage wasn’t forbidden to the Knights Errant like it was to monks or nuns, but it was as good an excuse as any. If he was too busy helping people and serving his country, then he wouldn’t have the assumption that he <i>had</i> to try again.</p>
<p>And, perhaps, by the time he had finished his tenure, he might be willing to try again. Sam had enjoyed the companionship of marriage, even the romance of courtship, but he knew within wedlock, there were <i>expectations</i>. Women, men, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t find it in himself to want what so many others seemed to crave. True, exceptions <i>did</i> exist, as he learned over the next few years, but it was often a taboo subject, not talked about in open company. Unless one dedicated themselves to religion, it was seen as a denial of one’s human nature. Everyone had desires, everyone had attractions, didn’t they? The idea that attraction and desire might not be two parts of a whole? That was a subject not everyone was ready to discuss.</p>
<p>Maybe someday he could find someone who shared his feelings, but here and now, Sam was still a Knight and had no time to be dwelling on his past—or his future beyond getting out of this castle and completing his mission. He had served well, served with honor, and had never failed an assignment or mission. He wasn’t about to start now. If he couldn’t leave by the doors, there <i>were</i> windows, weren’t there?</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>----------------------------</p>
</div>The beast slowly climbed the stairs up toward his room, feet feeling as heavy as lead. It had been years since he had last seen a human. He had been human once, hadn’t he? He had fleeting memories of not having been… like this. He turned his hands over, staring at his palms, his fingers, at the claws and fur, trying to imagine them as human hands. He growled, gritting his teeth and shaking his head in confusion. His head hurt. This human, this man was an intruder into his territory; he shouldn’t be here, but neither could he be allowed to leave. Why? Why not? The beast dropped to all fours and snarled, shaking his head harder, trying to clear the fog. There was <i>something</i> important he needed to remember, but how was he supposed to know what it was? And why was it happening <i>now</i>? It had to have been brought on by the appearance of this man, but was it him specifically, or just humans in general?<p>The beast whirled around, claws leaving gouges in the stairs as he launched himself back down. There was somewhere he needed to be.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-------------------------</p>
</div>The window opened surprisingly easily, knocking snow off the ledge as it swung squeakily outward. Sam leaned out to get an idea of what he was up against, hoping for a handy trellis and a turn in his luck. He gasped and quickly pulled himself back inside. Though the room was only on the second floor, the castle must have been built directly on the edge of a cliff, invisible from the front and his approach at dusk. The fog had hidden not the castle grounds, but a chasm. Sam turned to look at the doors, back to the open window, and then again at the doors. He could possibly put together some sort of battering ram, but the noise of breaking down the doors would surely bring the beast running. If he wanted to get out without drawing undue attention, then the window was probably his best option.<p>The ledge was wide and solid and, from what Sam could see from his limited vantage, the windows seemed to continue evenly across the back of the castle. He sheathed his dagger, folded up his cloak, and tucked it down the back of his shirt. It wasn’t comfortable, but it would keep it from catching the wind or getting caught underfoot. Sam steeled his nerves and stepped out onto the ledge. Pressing his body close to the castle wall, he inched over towards the next ledge. The gap would be his first real test. Under any other circumstances, the distance would be laughable. Easily leapt but for the snow. And the drop. He could turn back now, go back to the bedroom and formulate another plan. Or to wait for the beast to decide what to do with him. No. He had to push forward. Sam jumped.</p>
<p>His boot slipped a little on the landing, but Sam quickly caught his balance again and leaned up against the window to catch his breath again and calm his heart. One ledge down. He could do this. His hand fumbled behind him to find the window catch, but this one was locked or frozen shut. He could break it, but what good would that do except to bring the beast down upon him again? He gauged his next move and leapt to the next ledge.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-----</p>
</div>Sam leaned back against the window and clenched his fists in frustration, fighting back the urge to yell. So far every window had been locked or stuck. True, he could break one if he <i>had</i> to, but that wasn’t a risk he particularly wanted to take. There were clouds gathering on the horizon and unless he was mistaken, it looked like more snow coming. He had to get out of here. There was only one ledge left in this direction before he would have to either break the glass or turn back. He leapt.<p>A clean landing… and a surprisingly clean window. Sam pressed the side of his hand to the glass, shading his face, and peered in. The room inside was large and amazingly clean compared to everything else that he had seen so far, thoroughly piquing his curiosity. It was pristine, if cluttered with cloth-draped furniture, or… no, maybe not furniture. From out here, he couldn’t tell <i>what</i> they were. Why was this room special? Why was this <i>one</i> room cared for? The beast had said ‘<i>the castle provides</i>;’ was this part of what he had meant by that cryptic remark? Sam reached down to open the window and it swung open. He stepped through and pulled it shut behind him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The beast paused before the doors, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Trying to clear his mind, trying to calm himself before entering. This room was his sanctuary in this castle. This room was where he could come to try to remember, and the memories didn’t come when he was angry. They came quietly, only in threads and patches, but if he was calm and quiet and listened carefully, he could capture them, put them down onto paper or board, and save them. Perhaps, one day, he would be able to collect enough memories that he would know who he had been, why he was here. Perhaps he would be able to collect them all into something tangible before all of his former life had slipped away like water through his fingers. The longer he spent in this castle, in this form, in this curse, the less human he felt. He placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it.</p>
<p>“What? How did you get in here? <i>Why</i> are you in here?” the beast asked, surprised. The man from the kitchen, the stranger, was <i>here</i> in his sanctuary.</p>
<p>“What <i>is</i> this place?” the man asked softly. Without fear or anger. He had slipped the cloth free of one of the memories, revealing the unfinished portrait.</p>
<p>“That’s mine!” the beast roared, rage swelling up within him again. These were <i>his</i> memories, <i>no one</i> else’s. He snarled and flexed his hands, teeth and claws sharp. The portrait, the memory, caught his eye and he wilted just as suddenly, the fire having consumed its fuel and spent itself. He slumped to the floor, falling back onto his haunches. He spoke again, his voice quiet and pained. “Those are my memories…”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>--------------</p>
</div>Emotions washed over Sam in a rapid succession. Fear, confusion, anger, sadness, frustration, pity? He had watched the beast come through the doors, anger rising like a storm, only to collapse in on himself. He looked like a beaten dog, too tired and too afraid to stand up for itself. Sam’s eyes flicked between the beast and the portrait he had uncovered.<p>The portrait was charcoal on board, perhaps what had once been a table leaf, propped up on a makeshift easel. An unfinished portrait of a woman in an elegant dress, standing tall and proud, a sword loose in her grip but ready in an instant. The strokes of charcoal had captured her spirit but her face remained tauntingly blank. </p>
<p>“Who is she?” Sam asked as gently as he could manage. His question was borne out of a sense of compassion, a desire to not provoke the monster’s anger again, and a personal curiosity. Something about the woman in the portrait seemed familiar, tickling the back of his mind, but he couldn’t place why or where he might have known her from.</p>
<p>“I… I can’t remember,” the beast replied, rising to his feet again. He began to circle the room, pulling the cloths from more unfinished portraits. “I know these are my memories, I know I knew these people once, but I don’t remember faces or names. It’s mostly just <i>feelings</i>. I have to keep this room clean because it’s what they deserve, even if I don’t. I come here when I need to remind myself that I used to be more than this, to remind myself that I was <i>alive</i> once. I come here when the need draws me here. Some days, I feel the pull of my past, and I come here and make something <i>real</i> from it before I forget again. Some days, I feel their pull and I come here because I know there’s something I need to learn from them.</p>
<p>“But today, they know something I don’t and they can’t or won’t tell me,” the beast continued, anger rising in his voice again, hackles bristling. He balled up the cloth in his fist before whipping it back over the nearly finished portrait of a young man with sad eyes sitting by a fireplace. The rest of his face was a tauntingly blank mask, but his eyes watched the room. “You may go anywhere else in the castle, but this is <i>my</i> room.”</p>
<p>“Ok, ok, I’m leaving. I’ll go, I’ll get my things and be on my way, leave you to… this,” Sam said, raising his hands and backing towards the door and away from the beast. He <i>was</i> curious to get a closer look at all the other portraits, but he also didn’t want to further antagonize the beast. He was conflicted, unsure how he felt or ought to feel. The beast had threatened him, had attacked him, had locked him up as a prisoner. He <i>ought</i> to fear him or hate him, but that was only touching the surface and he wasn’t sure he was ready to plumb those depths yet.</p>
<p>“No,” the beast said, shaking his head, a possessive glint flashing in his eyes. He watched Sam intently, even as he moved through the room, re-covering the portraits. “I’ll see you back to your room. Or I could find you a nicer one. Somewhere you can wash up or do whatever you need to do. You’re going to have dinner with me tonight.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-------------------------</p>
</div>Staring out the window of his new room as he toweled off, Sam was even more confused than before, but also even more determined to find a way out of this place. His new room was larger and nicer than the bedroom he had barricaded himself into the night before, but it still felt like a prison. It was a bit shabby, but it hadn’t been lived in for years, so that could be forgiven. The locked doors, now those were less forgivable. It had an attached bathroom with <i>hot</i> running water, which was nicer than some inns he had stayed in, but even the promise of a hot bath on a snowy evening couldn’t tempt him to stay. He had to get out of there before these unseasonably early snows really set in. The sun was still fairly high in the afternoon sky, but the sky was darkening with clouds and fat snowflakes floated down.<p>And Sam wasn’t sure what to make of the request—no, <i>order</i>—to join the beast at dinner. He wasn’t sure what temper the evening would find the beast in; he had flashed between rage and despair so quickly. Perhaps, if he played along, he could lull the beast into a false sense of security, convince him that he didn’t have to be locked up, and then slip away in the night. The loneliness of the portraits, the people without faces, spoke of a desire for companionship that could be used to his advantage. Sam grimaced. He didn’t like lying, didn’t like manipulating others’ emotions against them, but what else could he do? He couldn’t <i>stay</i> here. He had a mission to complete.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>--------------------------------</p>
</div>Sitting on the floor, the beast leaned back against the wall and stared at the covered portrait. The eyes bored into him even through the cloth, searching his soul—if he had one anymore. He <i>knew</i> this man, had known him once. He could almost swear they had been friends. Perhaps more than friends? But… no. He shook his head. That couldn’t have been. He was a beast, incapable of love, given this monstrous form to show who he was inside. That was why he was here, wasn’t it? Because he was a heartless animal, a beast who had had no rightful place in the world of humans, who lived and loved? He narrowed his eyes and growled. Those were not his words. Who dared to tell him what he could or could not do? The man in the portrait, even though he judged him now, <i>he</i> hadn’t believed that.<p>The beast roared and scrambled to his feet. He slashed his claws against the wall, head spinning with pain and confusion as his mind boiled and memories resurfaced and were sucked back under again. Why were they trying to come back <i>now</i>? Why was the idea of <i>love</i> suddenly of the utmost importance? <i>How</i> did he know the man in the portrait? <i>Why</i> was he so sure of that? <i>Who</i> had made that pronouncement, who had declared him a beast and made him into what he was now? It was his outward form, yes, but he hadn’t always been like this. He would prove that he was not simply a beast, that he <i>could</i> love, maybe even that he had loved once. What was love but a sort of need? The castle provided for his needs, perhaps the castle had provided an answer for this need, too? The castle had brought a stranger to his doors…</p>
<p>Pacing the room restlessly, the beast snarled and pondered. There were aspects of <i>love</i> that he found… distasteful, and surely so would anyone else looking upon his monstrous form. But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? With every strand of every frayed memory he grasped at, he struggled and sank deeper into the question. Who was he, who had he been, why had he become a beast, why had this man come to his castle after so many years of solitude? To teach him about love? He growled; that was an absurd idea.</p>
<p>Well, he didn’t have to solve this problem in one night. All he had to do was keep the man here until he could figure out what role he was supposed to play. Perhaps that was why he had invited him to dinner; the suggestion had risen unbidden into his mind and off of his tongue before he could stop it, it had just felt right. Yes. Dinner would be a fine opportunity to observe him, to see what kind of a man he was. This stranger certainly was handsome; that was a type of love, yes? The stranger was also strong enough in spirit to stand up to him despite his fear, and the beast appreciated that even as it frustrated him. Appreciation. Was that, too, a type of love? But the beast knew nothing else about the stranger, not even his name. How could he love someone he didn’t know?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This was quite possibly the most ill at ease, most uncomfortable dinner Sam had ever had the misfortune of having to sit through, including the first time he had dined with his ex-wife’s parents when they were just beginning their courtship, and it had barely even begun. It was clear that the beast was <i>trying</i>, but that somehow made it even more awkward. The beast had found some slightly nicer clothes to wear. The castle’s dining room had been hastily cleaned, the windows smeared where a rag had attempted to wash away years of grime and only sort of succeeded. A remarkably clean but slightly holey tablecloth had been found somewhere and laid over the overly long table. But this was supposed to be a setting for a feast, for friends and family, meant to fill the table and the room with lively conversation and companionship. Instead, he sat isolated at one end of the long table with the beast at the other. They were separated by a distance both physical and mental.</p><p>The food wasn’t <i>bad</i>, but it was plain. Sam spread butter on a slightly-too-hard roll and watched the snow swirling outside the windows behind where the beast sat. Every minute longer he had to stay in this castle was another minute lost in the race against the weather.</p><p>“So, uh, I never asked your name,” the beast began, haltingly, the first attempt at conversation this evening.</p><p>“Why do you need to know my name? I didn’t plan on staying this long,” Sam answered warily. The longer he remained in the castle, the less it felt like fairy magic, but you never could be too careful with your name and any kind of magic.</p><p>“I need something to call you, don’t I?” the beast said, immediately picking up a roll and biting into it. There was a twinge of frustration in his voice, but it felt to Sam like he was trying to keep it under control.</p><p>“Can you tell me your name first?” Sam asked.</p><p>The beast paused, partially-gnawed roll in hand. His brows furrowed. Sam waited, took a small bite of his own roll, and tried not to look like the awkward silence was getting to him. It ought to have been an easy question, he had thought.</p><p>“I don’t… I don’t remember,” the beast finally answered. “It’s been so long since I needed it that I guess I forgot.”</p><p>“Oh, uh, ok,” Sam said. “Is there something you’d like me to call you?”</p><p>The beast shook his head. “No. I want to use my own name. If—<i>when</i>—I remember, I’ll tell you.”</p><p>“That’s fair,” Sam said, but his words felt flat and insufficient. “You can call me Sam,” he added.</p><p>“<i>Sam</i>,” the beast murmured. “That’s a good name.”</p><p>Sam took another bite of his roll, unsure how he was supposed to respond to that.</p><div class="center">
  <p>-----</p>
</div>The rest of the dinner passed quietly and without incident. Conversation had been stilted but polite. It felt like there were things the beast wanted to say but didn’t, further adding to the uncomfortable atmosphere. The food was simple, filling but bland. The most interesting thing in Sam’s eyes was the appearance and disappearance of the different dishes. As he would finish one plate, it would shimmer and evaporate into the air, to be replaced by a new one. As he finished his coffee—a little bitter, a little burnt—he looked across the table. The beast looked sated, full of food and lethargic, his eyes half closed. Sam stood up slowly, intending to go back to his room. His plan was to feign sleepiness from the heavy meal, gather his things, pretend to go to bed, and instead hide somewhere he couldn’t be locked in again.<p>“Where are you going?” the beast asked, suddenly alert.</p><p>“Back to my room,” Sam explained. “I haven’t eaten that much in one sitting in a long time, and now I just want to sleep it off.” He patted his stomach to try to help sell the ruse.</p><p>“Hm,” the beast said, nodding a little. “Fair. Perhaps that was too much food for a human; the castle is more used to feeding me. Let me escort you back.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s ok, I know the way,” Sam said politely, a sharp, nervous edge to his smile. He inched towards the dining room doors.</p><p>“No, I insist,” the beast said, rising swiftly to his feet, any trace of lethargy gone. He rounded the table.</p><p>“I can find my way back on my own,” Sam said, less politely. “You don’t need to chaperone me. Where else could I go? It’s night, it’s snowing, and all of my things are back in my room.”</p><p>“I know that look in your eye,” the beast said, pointing one clawed finger at Sam. “You’re clever; you have some sort of plan. But you can’t leave, not yet. The castle brought you here for a reason, and you can’t go until I know why.”</p><p>“The <i>castle</i> brought me here for a <i>reason</i>?” Sam scoffed, frustration rising as he was once again delayed. “I ended up here because I needed shelter for the night. My horse got spooked and broke her tether, and I didn’t think I could make it to the next village before dark, so I turned back and came here. <i>That’s</i> why. And it’s high time I left.”</p><p>Sam turned to leave. He couldn’t stay here, didn’t want to remain in this place a minute longer than he absolutely had to. He had a job to do, a mission to complete. He hadn’t been put on a schedule, per se—the court didn’t know how long it would take to find the Howlers, who had been out of the public eye for seven long years—but Hydra wouldn’t stop spreading just because the beast was lonely. As painful as he knew loneliness could be, he couldn’t stay. He took a step towards the doors.</p><p>“Wait!” the beast called after him. “Sam, <i>please</i>…”</p><p>Pulling up short, Sam paused, hand on the doorknob. He was startled by hearing his name and the ‘please,’ but he wouldn’t turn to face the beast. He could hear the conflict in his voice, the struggle between two natures, and knew he couldn’t afford to be pulled into that battle. It wasn’t his fight. Maybe he was the catalyst, the beginning of the beast’s journey, but he couldn’t be the whole long road. He had his own path to travel. </p><p>“I can’t,” Sam said, shaking his head and pushing the door open.</p><p>Sam stepped into the rotunda and made a beeline for the staircase. He was going to go back to his room, pack his things, and get some rest. He was leaving tomorrow. If the beast locked him in, he would break down the door. If the snow had drifted too deep, then he would figure out how to make snowshoes. For every possibility, he had to have an answer. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the footsteps running after him until the beast was almost upon him. </p><p>“Is there <i>anything</i> I can do to convince you?” the beast asked, suddenly by Sam’s side.</p><p>Startled, Sam whirled around reflexively to face the source of the sound. His foot slipped, caught on an uneven tile, and he felt himself starting to fall. He grabbed for the railing but felt it slip out of his grasp. He cried out, trying to get his arms out to break his fall, to keep his head from hitting the hard stones. As he fell, Sam suddenly felt a strong hand on his forearm. He <i>also</i> felt his ankle twist and collapse under him as he just as suddenly had his fall jerked to a halt.</p><p>Sam grimaced and hissed through his teeth at the pain in his ankle and shoulder as he dropped to the ground. He reached down gingerly to touch his ankle. It was painful, tender to the touch. He wasn’t sure if it was broken or just sprained yet, but neither one was good. Sam gave a yell of frustration. </p><p>“Are you ok?” the beast asked hesitantly, sitting down next to Sam, his hands dangling between his knees.</p><p>“No, I’m <i>not</i> ok,” Sam said curtly, declining to elaborate.</p><p>“Can I help?”</p><p>“I think you’ve done enough.”</p><p>“At least let me help you back to your room,” the beast said, frustration rising in his voice again. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. And I know I can’t take it back, but I can at least try to help fix what I did.”</p><p>“Yeah, alright,” Sam said tiredly. The beast was making a palpable effort to try to be less gruff, to try to keep his temper in check, so he could probably be a little nicer, too. Broken or sprained, his ankle wasn’t going to let him leave this place any time soon, and if he <i>had</i> to stay, then he probably should try to be a better housemate. He held his hand out to the beast.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ok, so I had to paste this in a few times, something kept breaking the markups, so if there's any odd jumps or gaps or anything that didn't get fixed, let me know and I'll see if I can't do something about it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first week of a sprain was always the worst. Nothing to do but rest and keep the ankle elevated and wrapped to keep the swelling down. Sam never had been very good at doing nothing. As a child, he had been in near constant motion, running around, asking questions, trying new things. His parents had encouraged him, letting him watch and learn as they ran the house and business. And maybe he never did develop his father’s patience for the potter’s wheel or his mother’s for the herb garden, but that was ok. He had a brother and a sister to carry on the family traditions, and there were so many other things he could learn. He had tried to simply rest and recover, sleeping as much as he could manage through the pain, but after two days of that, he had grown too restless. He had slowly, painstakingly sewed his map back together with the smallest stitches he could manage, but that had only taken him a day of work. He had even agreed to patch up some of the beast’s most redeemable clothing if only to have something to <i>do</i>.</p><p>“So, do you remember how long you’ve lived here?” Sam asked. It was the morning of the fifth day of his recuperation, when the beast came in to check on him and see if the castle had spirited up breakfast yet. </p><p>The beast paused, carrying a bucket of water and some clean cloths to wash and rewrap Sam’s ankle. “I’m not sure, years, certainly, but I lost count of the days a long time ago.”</p><p>“And you’ve lived in this castle the whole time?” Sam asked, setting his empty porridge bowl and coffee mug—the castle had apparently agreed with him that coffee was more appropriate than plain water at breakfast—on the side table.</p><p>“Yes,” the beast said, nodding a little as he pulled up a chair next to Sam’s bed. He waited patiently, politely, until Sam tossed back the blankets to uncover his injured ankle.</p><p>“Then you must know the area well,” Sam continued, prodding the conversation forward. He found it easier to ignore the pain in his ankle if he had something to distract himself with. He scooted to the edge of the bed, holding his injured leg out over the edge so the beast could tend to it. The beast had proved a quick study with dexterous artist’s fingers when Sam showed him how to wrap the ankle, and Sam appreciated not having to do it himself. It wasn’t broken, thankfully, but the sprain was still painful if he moved his leg wrong or bumped it against anything.</p><p>“Hmmm, not really,” the beast said, slightly evasive. He unwound the wrap on Sam’s ankle, looking like he was deliberately putting his entire focus on the task so he wouldn’t have to meet Sam’s eyes. So he wouldn’t have to elaborate.</p><p>Well, Sam had shared a bit about himself and a few tame stories from his time as a Knight Errant over these past few days; it was only fair that he learn some things in return. He pressed on. “Oh? Why not?”</p><p>“I, uh, haven’t really left the castle,” the beast said sheepishly, gently washing Sam’s foot and ankle. “And before you ask, no, I don’t know if I can. I haven’t tried, it just… never felt right. And besides, where could I go, looking like this?”</p><p>Sam glanced away. An entirely fair question. He cleared his throat and asked a question to clear the air again. “So, how do you fill your time? What do you do to keep from going mad from being cooped up?”</p><p>The beast was silent. Sam felt a twinge of regret for asking. In only the few days he had been here, he had seen a sea change in the way the beast behaved and carried himself. That first night, he had been a wild animal, raging at an intruder on his territory. And now? A week later, he still had some lightning-like flashes of anger, dropping out of a clear sky, but they had decreased in frequency. He apologized for his outbursts. He was <i>far</i> more subdued. More subdued, yet also more <i>alive</i>.</p><p>As the beast finished wrapping Sam’s ankle, he spoke again, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I allowed myself to go mad. It was easier that way. The days blurred together. I ate, I slept, I paced the castle to keep active. Sometimes I would have moments of clarity, and I would go to the room you saw, where I could draw my memories, commit them to a solid reality, and look at them when I couldn’t remember on my own. Most of the time, though, I lived like a caged animal. I felt that, if I had been cursed to be a beast, then that was what I must be. There wasn’t much point in thinking about things like hope or future.”</p><p>“You were cursed?” Sam asked as gently as he could, scooting back onto the bed to prop his ankle up. “Do you remember how? Or why?”</p><p>“I feel like I <i>should</i> know, like the answer is right on the tip of my tongue but I can’t find the words,” the beast replied, remaining seated next to Sam’s bed. </p><p>“It’ll come to you,” Sam said. “If you try too hard to dig up the answer, you’ll just bury it further and get frustrated, that’s what I’ve found. Don’t think too hard, let it surface on its own.”</p><p>The beast raised one eyebrow, looking very skeptical.</p><p>“Ok, ok, I know I’m not the most patient person,” Sam laughed and crossed his arms over his chest, “but it’s <i>true</i>. I might have trouble taking my own advice, but that doesn’t mean the advice is wrong.”</p><p>The beast smiled. Just a quick quirk of his mouth, a tiny flash of teeth not shown in anger, but it had happened. A real smile.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>------------------------</p>
</div>By the eighth day, Sam was itching to get back on his feet. He still had pain and weakness as he limped along, but he had to get moving again. He was in good shape, sure, but a week of bedrest for anyone was bound to take a toll and he needed to get back into condition if he was going to complete his mission. <i>His mission</i>. He <i>knew</i> that he still had to complete it, as soon as possible, but he found himself more and more accepting of the delay. Perhaps it was resignation to his injury, perhaps he had let himself grow almost fond of the beast he shared these walls with. Given a chance and a reason to try, the beast had seized on the opportunity to be more human again. It was hardly fair of Sam to keep calling him ‘the beast,’ but he had no other name for him yet.<p>On the morning of the ninth day, the beast presented Sam with a set of crutches. They were rough in their construction, the bark still on the wood in spots, but they had been trimmed and smoothed down in all the right places and padded with rags to make them more comfortable. Sam thanked him, sincerely meaning it.</p><p>On the tenth day, Sam gestured with his crutch and asked, “So, when did you make these?”</p><p>“Oh, uh, two days ago,” the beast answered. “Why, is there something wrong with them?”</p><p>“No, no, they’re fine, I was just curious,” Sam said. “The wood still smells fresh, and you said you hadn’t been out of the castle…” he trailed off.</p><p>“After we talked, I started wondering,” the beast said, glancing down and rubbing his neck. He looked bashful. “Why had I never even gone outside? I wouldn’t have to <i>leave</i>, just go <i>out</i>. After you went to bed, I made up my mind to try it. If I had a reason to go out, then I’d be more likely to do it, yes? So I decided I’d go get some wood and try to make something to help you get around. I know you could get by without them, but if I could help make things easier, then I should, shouldn’t I? So I went outside to find a suitable tree. And the snow is a lot different on the ground than it is watching it come down from in here, or even from the balconies. And it was so different, seeing the castle from the outside. I guess I know now why I never had any visitors. It doesn’t look very friendly, does it? Especially not in moonlight.”</p><p>“No, it does not,” Sam agreed with a chuckle. “I probably never would have come in if my horse hadn’t bolted on me.”</p><p>“Well, I’m glad you did. I wouldn’t have met you otherwise,” the beast said warmly.</p><p>Sam simply smiled in return, unsure how to respond.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-------------------</p>
</div>Over the next few weeks, Sam slowly explored more of the castle, the beast with him. Though the beast had lived there for many years, there was still so much of it that he had never seen, never thought to explore. Much of the castle had fallen into disrepair, and some rooms would take an almost superhuman effort to return to their former glory, but it wasn’t <i>all</i> a ruin. Sam discovered, among other things, a dust-covered library. Many of the books had begun to fall apart at the bindings, pages nibbled by unidentified vermin, but so too were many still legible.<p>“I didn’t know this was here…” the beast said in an almost reverential whisper, brushing his fingers lightly over the spines of the books.</p><p>“You read?” Sam asked. Over half of the people in the town he had grown up in were literate, but he knew that wasn’t the case everywhere. He didn’t know what kind of life the beast had had before he had been cursed. Or <i>why</i> he had been cursed.</p><p>“I do,” the beast replied. “Or, I did, but I suppose it’s not a skill one readily forgets, is it? I learned very young. I was a sickly child, spent most of every winter in bed with some cough or another, and what else was there to do but read?”</p><p>The beast gasped, dropping the book he had pulled off the shelf. </p><p>“What is it?” Sam asked, looking around the library, wondering what had startled the beast.</p><p>“I remembered…” the beast said slowly. “I remembered something from my childhood, from my life before this.”</p><p>“That’s good, right?”</p><p>“Yes, I just… didn’t know that I had forgotten. It startled me. I mean, of course I had a life before this, the memories that I draw prove that, but I think those must have been just before I was cursed. This memory, my childhood, I’d forgotten that I even <i>had</i> been a child. When you explore, I want to come with you. If that’s ok. Maybe looking around and talking to you, I’ll remember more things.”</p><p>“Of course, and I’d enjoy the company.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A month and a half had passed since Sam had come to the castle. And while he couldn’t say he was entirely comfortable here, it was starting to feel almost like a home to him. Not just a stop on his journey, but somewhere warmer. Perhaps it had been out of necessity for both of them, but he would even say that he and the beast had become friends by now. Sam was a Knight, he was used to time spent alone on the road, but he missed the camaraderie of his fellow Knights. And the beast, though hamstringed by his curse and his memory, really did try his best to fill that gap.</p>
<p>“Can you tell me why you became a Knight Errant?” the beast asked one afternoon, as he and Sam took their slow walk through the castle, strengthening Sam’s ankle. “I feel like, though you’ve got the temperament, the need to do good, there’s more to it than that. Maybe I’m wrong, and maybe it’s not something you want to tell me, but I get a feeling from you that you’ve dedicated your life to the Knights to avoid something else.”</p>
<p>Sam came to an abrupt stop. “What makes you think that?” he asked cautiously.</p>
<p>The beast gave a sheepish smile. “Well, I may not be able to remember everything about my past, but there’s something about how you talk that reminds me a bit of myself. When you talk about your adventures with the Knights. You speak of your friends, your adventures, the daring rescues, being able to see the country and meet new people, but when you speak of your family, you seem sad. Like you miss them, but that you feel like you can’t go back.”</p>
<p>Sam leaned on his crutch, debating with himself how much he was willing to share. It was personal, a little painful, his reasons for joining the knights, but that had been years ago. </p>
<p>“I shouldn’t have said that, I was being presumptuous,” the beast said quickly, glancing down and folding his hands at his waist.</p>
<p>“No, it’s ok,” Sam replied. “You were right, when you said I didn’t feel like I could go back. I haven’t told many people; maybe I was ashamed of it, but that was a long time ago. I feel like I can tell you.”</p>
<p>The beast nodded silently, letting Sam set his own pace.</p>
<p>“Yes, I feel like I belong with the Knights Errant, that if I <i>can</i> do good in this world then I should, but that wasn’t why I joined,” Sam explained, letting the words flow out of him. “I joined because I hoped they could give me a sense of purpose, help me figure out my place. I had been married. And I loved her, I really did, but it wasn’t meant to be. When we divorced, I felt like it was my fault, like there was something wrong with me, that I didn’t try hard enough to make it work. And maybe I could’ve become a monk, but I didn’t feel like that was my path, either, withdrawing from the world. But no matter which path I chose, I felt like I had disappointed my parents by not being able to stay married. And I know now it wasn’t my fault, that marriage isn’t for everyone, that love takes different forms for different people and that doesn’t mean it’s <i>wrong</i>, but I don’t know how to talk to my parents about it. So I just… don’t. I write letters; we’re not estranged, we do love each other, but I’m not sure I’m ready to go back and have to talk to them, face to face, and tell them everything I’ve learned about myself. I can accept who I am, every piece of me that makes me <i>me</i>, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to help them understand the things that it took me so long to learn myself, that no one talked about back home.”</p>
<p>Sam bit off the last word, like he had to stem the flow before he shared his whole life story. It was too personal, too much to share with a new friend, the kind of flood of feelings that would cause people to retreat to higher ground so they wouldn’t become inundated. </p>
<p>“Sorry,” Sam said softly. “I let myself get too lost in my own story, I shouldn’t have put that all on you.”</p>
<p>“It’s ok,” the beast replied with a reassuring smile. “I don’t mind. I like listening to you, and if you think it’s important to share, then it’s important. I just wish I could remember more about myself, so it wouldn’t be only you, telling me about yourself.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Sam said, smiling back. “You’ve already remembered so much since I came here, I’m sure it’s not all lost. It’ll come back in time.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>------------------</p>
</div>The beast sat in his room that night, unable to sleep. He sat on the floor under his window—cleaner now than it had been in years, now that he had <i>reason</i> to try—and looked at the stars. What was it that Sam had said earlier, about marriage and love? Different people felt different kinds of love? He wanted to ask Sam what he had meant by that, wanted to ask him to expound upon everything he had learned, but he felt like that would be too invasive. Were they friends? He thought so, but they had only known each other for not yet two months. But in that time, the beast felt like he had grown so much clearer, so much more <i>human</i> around Sam.<p>Was it wrong that he wanted to know what it meant to be human? All of it, the grand parts, the foibles, the strengths and weaknesses, all the minutiae and endless variations. The beast slouched over, resting his chin on his hand. He drummed his fingers against his jaw. <i>If</i>… If he had understood Sam’s words right, did that mean they were alike in their manner of love? What other reason could he have had to have mentioned the monastic life as a solution after his divorce? Sam had spoken of his friends and companions in the same way that the beast thought he might have once felt towards his friends. Sam loved his friends, that was clear. He still loved his family, even if things were strained between them. And when he spoke of his marriage, his voice had gone a little soft, fond. Maybe a little wistful, like he had hoped there could have been something—like marriage, but also not like it.</p>
<p>Perhaps, though, the beast was merely projecting his own wishes. The idea that someone else out there could feel the same way that he did and that he wasn’t alone. The idea that he might not be wrong, might not be broken, that the curse had been cast by a narrow mind that couldn’t understand the breadth of what love was and could be.</p>
<p>And perhaps there was more to it than that, more than the beast was willing to admit to himself. He certainly couldn’t keep Sam here against his will. He couldn’t do that to anyone now that he knew better, especially not a friend. Sam had to be allowed his freedom to come and go as he wished. When his ankle healed up, he would probably want to leave again, to complete his mission. Why did the idea of Sam leaving one day make him feel both empty and heavy as a stone? Was it simply that he finally had someone to talk to and he would miss that? Were they truly friends? Was it—could it be—more than that? Did he want that? Could Sam want that with him, looking like this monster?</p>
<p>The beast growled, rose unglamorously to his feet, and flung himself into his bed. His head hurt. Why were there so many things he didn’t remember or didn’t understand? Things had been so much simpler when he had been lost to the world, nothing but an unthinking beast. It hadn’t been better, though, he thought, pressing a pillow over his face, merely simpler. And as much as this confusion hurt him, left him frustrated, to think was to be human, was it not? He wouldn’t press. He would wait, observe, and simply try to be a good friend to Sam. If there was to be more than that, then it would happen on its own terms, in its own time. He couldn’t push it, couldn’t rush it, couldn’t force it. </p>
<p>And besides, the beast thought, rolling over again, trying to get comfortable. There wasn’t anything wrong with being friends. He liked being maybe-friends with Sam. And friendship was a form of love too, wasn’t it?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I know the snow came a bit early this year, but I talked to Dugan yesterday and he said that <i>no</i> one’s come through to claim our mystery horse yet,” Bucky said as he and his husband took seats at the inn’s bar.</p>
<p>“Yeah, before I passed her off to him, a few people <i>tried</i>, but I sent them on their way,” Jim said, pouring drinks for Bucky and Daniel. “The usual ok for you two? Well, when <i>one</i> of our locals kept pestering me, I decided I’d better let Dugan take care of our lost mare. One, he’s better with horses, and two, he doesn’t have an inn to run and he and his family can keep a better eye on her on his farm. I know everyone from around here well enough to know none of them would have that fine of an animal, not even the sheriff. She’s not a work horse and she’s not really a hunter, either.”</p>
<p>“The sheriff had been asking after your mystery horse?” Daniel asked, leaning his crutch up against the bar as he eased himself into a seat. “I woulda thought he had more sense than that.”</p>
<p>“Nah, not him,” Jim said, shaking his head, “one of his underlings.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I bet I know who <i>that</i> was,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes.</p>
<p>“I’ll give you three guesses and the first two don’t count,” Jim said darkly.</p>
<p>“I take it that would be everyone’s favorite asshole, Rumlow?” Daniel said with a humorless laugh. “I don’t understand why he sticks around here. He could leave and find a position with any town constable, wouldn’t have to live in this ‘dinky little mudhole of a village,’ as he calls it, if he so chose.”</p>
<p>“I don’t understand that man and I don’t want to,” Jim said, continuing the conversation as he tended to things behind the bar. “I try to keep well clear of him; he’s made it no secret he doesn’t like me, so why would he keep coming around like he could convince me that horse was his? He had to know I was never gonna buy it. But that’s enough on <i>that</i> subject, I wouldn’t want to sour your drinks. Either of you two figured out anything new about that little bit of letter about Hydra?”</p>
<p>“Nothing we didn’t know before,” Daniel said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t at the battle that killed their wizard, so I don’t know who all was involved, but if we can figure out who was there and where it was, maybe we could ask them. I know their banner, everyone does, but who was selected to serve under it? I know it was a top secret team so that Hydra spies wouldn’t know who to target, but it sure would’ve been nice if somebody would’ve told us who they were afterwards. <i>But</i> I do understand wanting to forget what you’ve had to do and just start over.” He reflexively rubbed his left leg; it had been amputated above the knee from an injury sustained in the fight against Hydra. Bucky squeezed his shoulder gently.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I understand that,” Jim said. “We were all the way out here on patrols when everything went down, didn’t get the news until a couple weeks after it had happened. It was easier to stay here and transition away from soldiering than to go back to the big city. I mean, the city’s got its benefits, but so does this village. It’s nice and quiet here, and we don’t have to be soldiers anymore.”</p>
<p>“I’ll drink to that,” Bucky said, raising his glass.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam leaned against his crutches, staring out the window at the drifting snow. His ankle was feeling a lot better and he didn’t need the crutches anymore, but a few months of snow was putting a damper on his mood and he appreciated the physical support. He sighed. He’d been out of the world, out of contact with anyone, for a little over three months. What would they think had happened to him? Would they have sent someone to look for him? Would they have written him off as lost? He didn’t <i>regret</i> his time here—the beast cleaned up quite nicely when he had someone to talk to, had even promised to show him where a pair of peregrine falcons nested every spring, if he was still here when they returned—but he still had his mission to complete. What had Hydra been doing in this time? Would they have hunkered down for the winter or would they have used the lull to their advantage? He needed to find the village and he needed to find the Howlers. And sure, snowshoes were a thing, but he’d never manage any kind of prolonged hike in these conditions with this ankle. It was a lot better, but he didn’t want to resprain it by trying too hard too quickly. </p>
<p>If he left now, he even thought he truly would miss the beast’s company. What <i>would</i> happen when he was finally able to leave? He had become friends, good friends even, with the beast. And maybe it was just their proximity, their isolation from the outside world, but Sam didn’t think he was such a bad guy—if you could get past his outward appearance. <i>That</i> was certainly still a bit unnerving. </p>
<p>Would he complete his mission and then come back? How long would that take? Would the beast begin to backslide if he went away? Sam knew it shouldn’t be his responsibility, but he felt like they had some kind of a connection now. Or, what if he could bring the beast with him, perhaps seek out a cure or a way to break his curse? It wouldn’t be easy hiding him from curious eyes, but it <i>could</i> be done. If they followed rangers’ trails and camped wild, if he only went into town when they needed supplies, leaving the beast hidden in the woods.</p>
<p>How <i>had</i> the beast been cursed? Why had he been cursed? Would they have to figure out who had cursed him and convince them to reverse it, or was it something any court wizard worth his salt would be able to do? So many questions, so few answers.</p>
<p>A knock on the door brought Sam out of his reverie.</p>
<p>“Come in,” he called.</p>
<p>The door swung open and the beast entered with coffee and breakfast on a tray. The castle might provide basic sustenance, but it turned out that given the right motivation, the beast wasn’t a half bad cook. Sam wasn’t sure how or what it took for the beast to convince the castle to provide the ingredients he needed for a <i>proper</i> breakfast with eggs and bacon and dried fruit, but he was pleased that he’d figured it out. It was a lot better than plain porridge every morning.</p>
<p>“Still snowing?” the beast asked, setting the tray down on the desk.</p>
<p>“Still snowing,” Sam echoed. He turned and walked over to sit down at his desk to eat.</p>
<p>The beast pulled up a second chair and sat a little off to the side, reaching over and picking a couple crispy strips of bacon off of the plate.</p>
<p>“Thanks,” Sam said with a nod.</p>
<p>They ate in comfortable silence, each stealing occasional glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking.</p>
<p>“So, uh,” the beast began, finishing his coffee and setting the cup back on the tray, which shimmered and disappeared. “I was wondering. I know I said that my memory room was off-limits, but I was thinking. Would you like to see some of what I’ve drawn? Maybe they won’t mean as much to you, they’re not your memories, but I hope you’ll like them for what they are. I know you liked those books about art that we found in the library. I mean, I wouldn’t go so far to compare myself to the Old Masters, but I don’t think I’m <i>too</i> bad at drawing.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’d love to see them,” Sam replied, smiling warmly.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>---------------</p>
</div>The beast walked slowly next to Sam, trying to conceal his nerves. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous. But <i>why</i>? What did he have to be nervous about? He was just showing a few drawings to a friend. A <i>friend</i>. Perhaps <i>that</i> was it. When was the last time he had had a friend? The man in his drawings who watched him from under the cloth had been his friend, but that had been so long ago, he couldn’t even remember his name. What would he think of him now?<p>“What’s on your mind?” Sam asked, turning to look at him as they walked. “You seem preoccupied; you’re awfully quiet.”</p>
<p>The beast weighed his options, debating if he should tell Sam his worries, and if so, how much. He didn’t want to burden him with everything from his years under this curse; that was his weight alone to bear. He made a noncommittal sound.</p>
<p>“I didn’t used to draw before,” the beast said. “Well, I mean, I guess I did, a little, but they were little things. I’d draw with sticks in the dirt, I’d do silly little figures in the margins of my studies when I was young. My family was poor, so they couldn’t afford to send me off to apprentice to a proper artist’s studio. So I mostly stopped. I didn’t have the time for it, or I didn’t have the materials, or any number of excuses. But when I came here, I had all the time in the world. And materials? Maybe I couldn’t get proper paper or canvases, but there was plenty of wood. Wood to burn for charcoal and wood to use that charcoal to draw on.”</p>
<p>The beast swallowed hard as they arrived at his memory room, his makeshift studio. True, Sam had been in there before, but that had been an accident. He had never <i>deliberately</i> brought anyone here before now. He lay his hand on the doorknob, feeling a slight tremble. What was he afraid of? That his memories might judge him? That they might reveal something about him that he had been unaware of? What if Sam saw his memories and saw what—<i>who</i>—he used to be and decided he was a lost cause? He shook his head almost imperceptibly. If he couldn’t tell who he had once been from his own memories, it was unlikely that a stranger would know him better than he knew himself.</p>
<p>“Are you feeling ok?” Sam asked, breaking his internal monologue. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, if it’s too private. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”</p>
<p>“No, it’s ok,” the beast said, throwing on a quick smile to cover his nerves. He turned the knob and swung the door open.</p>
<p>“You’ve, uh, seen this one before,” the beast continued, removing the cloth from the portrait of the woman with the sword. “I don’t remember her name or her face, I don’t remember who she was. I don’t remember any of their names. I think they were my friends once, but if they were, I should remember more than I do.”</p>
<p>“You’ve been cursed alone here for a long time, I think they’ll forgive you for not remembering everything all at once,” Sam said, gently, touching the beast’s hand.</p>
<p>The beast closed his eyes and bowed his head. Blinking away his unsteady feelings, he moved onto the next portrait. And the next, and the next, and the next. He unveiled each memory, pausing to explain what little he could remember, pausing to allow Sam enough time to look into his mind. Each face unfinished, a mirror to his state. If he didn’t know who he was, how could he know who they were? If he couldn’t remember the people who had been his friends, how could he think he could be Sam’s friend? His stomach turned anxiously. This had been a bad idea. All he was doing was showing Sam how incomplete he was, how unfit he was. His hand lingered on the cloth of the next memory. Well, he’d gotten this far, what was one more?</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-----</p>
</div>Sam watched as the cloth slipped back to reveal a large portrait, a group of seven men and one woman around a campfire. Though raw charcoal was not a medium for fine detail, each person’s personality peeked through the lines and shading. It was a complex mood, tension and ease together, keeping up morale as they waited for something that hung over them. They looked like soldiers, or a band of scouts. Maybe not Knights like he was, but they had that same sense of loyalty and camaraderie. His eye moved across the tableau, taking in the scene, and came to rest on a banner hanging behind them. It was small and the detail inexact, but he could almost swear it looked like the banner of the Howlers—a wolf sejant on a field gyronny, symbolizing unity, valor, and perseverance.<p>How long ago had the Howlers disappeared from the public eye? How long ago was Hydra’s wizard vanquished? Seven years? How long had the beast been in this castle? Could he possibly have known the Howlers? It couldn’t be mere coincidence that their symbol would appear so close to the village where the Howlers were said to have retired, could it?</p>
<p>“That banner,” Sam began, “I could almost swear I know that banner. What do you remember about this scene?”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure, the beast mused, raising one hand to his chin. He leaned in to scrutinize the memory. “I know I drew it from a distance, but I feel like it would have been more correct to have done it from the eyes of one of the men around the fire, like I had been there. It wouldn’t have looked as good, though; I wouldn’t have been able to set the scene as well. Artistic liberty, or something like that. Sometimes you draw the world as it is, sometimes you draw the world as it could be. But I’m rambling. What did you wish to know about it?”</p>
<p>“You don’t remember anything about who these people are, other than you believe they were your friends?” Sam asked.</p>
<p>The beast shook his head, still scrutinizing the picture.</p>
<p>“In your other portraits, you were able to capture clothing and attitude quite well, even if you didn’t know faces or names. Do you remember the banner that you drew here? Could you perhaps recreate it larger and in more detail? Maybe it’s a longshot, but do you remember what colors it was?” Sam asked, hoping beyond hope that the beast would have a concrete answer. He felt like he was <i>so</i> close to knowing.</p>
<p>“I can try,” the beast said with a determined nod.</p>
<p>The beast walked over to the fireplace to pick out a suitable piece of charcoal. Sam found a piece of what might have been wallpaper once that was large enough and clean enough. He spread it out on a table. The beast placed one hand on the paper, the other holding the charcoal hovering just above the surface. A momentary pause, and his fingers flew over the paper. Sam watched eagerly as the image of the banner began to take shape. It <i>had</i> to be the Howlers. Wolves weren’t an uncommon charge, but the wolf sejant combined with the field gyronny, it had to be them. The colors would confirm, and Sam hoped beyond hope that the beast could remember.</p>
<p>The beast stopped, frowning at the image. “That can’t be,” he murmured.</p>
<p>“What can’t be?” Sam asked.</p>
<p>“I want to say it was a wolf argent on a field azure and gules, but that contravenes the rule of tincture. Azure should never lie next to gules,” the beast said, frustration rising. “My memory is saying this is how it <i>was</i>, but it shouldn’t be, <i>couldn’t</i> be right. There are rules…”</p>
<p>“It <i>is</i> them!” Sam said with awe, unable to contain his excitement.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ah, Heraldry and its terms. If you are unfamiliar, sejant refers to a seated quadruped with its forepaws on the ground. Gyronny is a field divided into eighths (if not otherwise specified in number), where the gyrons (triangles) are alternating colors. Azure is the heraldic term for blue, gules for red, and argent for silver or white. The Rule of Tinctures says that metal should not be put on metal, and color should not be put on color, which means that red and blue, both being colors, should not lie adjacent in the field, or as a charge (such as the wolf sejant) on the field. Silver/white is a metal, so you could have a gyronny argent and azure, or a charge argent on a field gules. There are exceptions, but the rule says that it’s not <i>supposed</i> to happen. I think I read somewhere that the German flag skirts around the “no colors on colors” rule with red next to black by calling sable (heraldic for black) a fur rather than a color as it almost always is, but that’s getting a bit too deep into the subject.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Who is ‘them’? This?” the beast asked, confusion swirling through his mind again, leaving him unsteady. He braced himself against the table and pointed at his drawing, beginning to swim before his eyes. “What is this? Why do you know it? What does it mean?”</p>
<p>“That’s the banner of the Howlers, the group who struck the deciding blow to Hydra seven years ago, killed their wizard,” Sam explained, slipping under the beast’s arm to help support him. “You knew the Howlers? I’ve been looking for them for months now. Before I ended up here, I had <i>finally</i> learned where they were supposed to have disappeared to.”</p>
<p>“They… disappeared?” the beast asked, his words unsteady. </p>
<p>Sam helped him to the floor and sat down next to him. The beast reached out to take Sam’s hand. Sam accepted readily.</p>
<p>“Not like that,” Sam said, trying to ease the beast’s concerns. “They fell out of the public eye almost immediately after that last battle against Hydra’s wizard. The common assumption was that they didn’t want to be feted for what they had had to do. The fight against Hydra was a long and bloody one.”</p>
<p>“How did they…?” the beast asked, his voice drying up mid-sentence.</p>
<p>“No one but they know for certain,” Sam said, shaking his head. “The stories tell that there was a great ripple of untethered magic over the land, the center unclear, and Hydra crumbled as it passed. Dens were uncovered and swept up without breaking a sweat. Hydra soldiers were captured or killed, unwilling or unable to fight back. It was like they had just given up, knowing their wizard, their source of power, was dead.”</p>
<p>“The Howlers. Are they dead?” the beast asked, barely louder than a whisper.</p>
<p>“I don’t think so, no,” Sam said quickly, trying to reassure the beast. “I think I would have heard if they were. I know where they should be able to be found, but I haven’t actually <i>found</i> the village yet. That was where I was headed that night when I took shelter here, but the village wasn’t where the map said it should have been. I know it’s around here <i>somewhere</i>, though.”</p>
<p>“This is… this is a lot to take in,” the beast murmured, holding his hand to his forehead and grimacing with pain. “They were my friends, and I forgot them.”</p>
<p>Sam sat quietly, letting the beast process his grief and confusion, stroking his arm softly. They sat in silence. It wasn’t pleasant silence, but it also lacked the prickly discomfort of that first dinner they spent together. Two friends, understanding.</p>
<p>Sam wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the beast spoke again. </p>
<p>“We—the Howlers—we were an unusual group, weren’t we?” the beast mused. “I might be wrong, but I want to say I remember we came from a wide variety of backgrounds and experiences. They brought us together for the express purpose of defeating Hydra. And… we did that? We succeeded? You said you were looking for them. Why? Has something happened?”</p>
<p>Sam nodded. “Yes, and yes. Yes, you did defeat Hydra, seven years ago. You made the world safe again. And yes, unfortunately, since then a new group calling themselves Hydra—maybe they’re new, maybe they’re a remnant of the original, we don’t know for sure—has made its way into the ears of the Court. I was sent out to try to find the Howlers, see what I could learn from them for this new fight.”</p>
<p>“And you said they live in a village near here, but you don’t know where for certain?”</p>
<p>“I have a map, and weeks of looking and asking placed a pin in these mountains, but it doesn’t look like my sources were quite correct.”</p>
<p>“Could I look at your map? I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but it can’t hurt, can it? Maybe I’ll remember something.”</p>
<p>“Of course. The map’s in my room. Do you feel up to walking, or should I bring it here?”</p>
<p>“I’ll walk with you.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>---------------</p>
</div>“<i>There</i>,” the beast said, standing up and tapping a claw firmly against the map. “I <i>remember</i>. We were stationed there. It was a tiny village, so out of the way of everything, so no one, not even Hydra, considered it worthwhile. Well, Hydra always was a bit grandiose. So we set up there and made our plans. Hmm.”<p>“‘Hmm’?” Sam echoed in question, marking the village’s new location on the map.</p>
<p>“Hmm,” the beast said again. “If I’m here now, and we were there then, and <i>they’re</i> there now, then we must have fought Hydra and their wizard in <i>these</i> mountains. Good strategy, all around, really. We were close to them without them knowing it, and they had a readily defensible location. The snows in the winter make travel very difficult—” Sam nodded his understanding “—but also wouldn’t be any trouble for a powerful enough wizard to work around. I wonder…”</p>
<p>The beast trailed off, eyes slightly unfocused and staring off into the middle distance. He frowned.</p>
<p>“What is it?” Sam asked, reflexively glancing towards where the beast was looking.</p>
<p>The beast shook his head and settled back into his chair. “I’m not sure. There was a flash of a memory, but it’s gone now. If it was important, I’m sure I’ll remember again. For now, what can you tell me about the Howlers?”</p>
<p>“My information is limited, but I’ll tell you what I know,” Sam said, settling more comfortably into his chair and facing the beast. He began explaining. “It’s not much, but anything I know, you’ll know.</p>
<p>“I learned eight names, likely matching the eight people around the fire from your portrait. The official leader of the Howlers was Lady Peggy Carter, who is probably the woman in the portrait I saw that first time. She was—or is, I don’t know what the Howlers are doing now, I assumed retirement—a master spy. She gathered the intelligence that sent the Howlers off on their missions. She was so successful in gathering intelligence not only because of <i>her</i> intelligence, but because she could make herself disappear into a crowd, make it so her targets would overlook her as merely just another pretty face of no importance.</p>
<p>“In the field, however, the Howlers were most often led by their Captain, Steve Rogers, since Lady Carter couldn’t guarantee she would always be present, with her other duties. He was regarded as an expert tactician, helping formulate plans with Lady Carter, and improvising when she was not with the group.”</p>
<p>The beast made a little gasp of a sound and wrinkled his forehead.</p>
<p>“What is it?” Sam asked, breaking off his explanation, looking curiously at the beast. “Was something I said familiar?”</p>
<p>“I think so,” the beast said, closing his eyes and frowning. “That <i>name</i>, it’s…”</p>
<p>“One of your friends?” Sam prompted.</p>
<p>“I think that might be <i>me</i>. It just feels <i>right</i>, like putting on a well-made glove.”</p>
<p>“Should I call you Steve? Or do you want to wait, try the name on privately a bit longer?”</p>
<p>“Please, call me Steve,” Steve said, grinning excitedly. “If it <i>is</i> me, then I should use my own name. It was lost for so long, and you’ve given it back to me… But just in case that isn’t who I was, could you tell me what other names you know from the Howlers? If they’re my friends, I feel like I should <i>know</i> the names when you tell me them, but none will fit like Steve does.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Sam said. He nodded and continued. “Continuing down the list, we have Gabe Jones, expert linguist and jack of all trades when it came to carts, wagons, almost any kind of land vehicle; James Barnes, expert marksman and navigator; James Morita, codemaker and codebreaker, in charge of official communications in the field; Jacques Dernier, part-time amateur wizard, with his focus on explosive magic; James Falsworth, mountaineer; and Timothy Dugan, who was said to have a way with horses.”</p>
<p>Sam looked up expectantly at the beast—<i>Steve</i>. His name was Steve. No longer <i>just</i> a beast, locked into a perpetual present, he had a name and a past and… and a <i>future</i>.</p>
<p>“My friends…” Steve murmured again, smiling so broadly his whole face shone. A cloud passed over him, and he visibly sobered. “You’ll have to go find them to complete your mission, to stop Hydra from returning.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Sam answered, a touch hesitantly. “Is there something wrong?”</p>
<p>“Do they think I’m dead?” Steve asked. “If they knew I was alive, wouldn’t they have come looking for me? Unless… Unless I drove them away? I forgot who they were and drove them out? Could I have done that?”</p>
<p>“Please, don’t blame yourself. You were cursed, you said it yourself,” Sam said, quickly cutting Steve off, not letting him spiral out. “If you forgot them, it wasn’t your fault. They might be waiting, trying to find a cursebreaker, before they come looking for you. We don’t know, and we won’t know unless we ask them.”</p>
<p>“You have to go, don’t you?” Steve said again, sadness blurring into his voice.</p>
<p>Sam nodded. “I have to go. If the Howlers have any intelligence about Hydra that we don’t currently know, the Court needs to know. But if you don’t want me to mention you when I go, I won’t.” He reached out and squeezed Steve’s hand reassuringly.</p>
<p>“Maybe, if they ask about me, tell them… tell them what you feel comfortable telling them. If they don’t mention me, if they think I’m dead, perhaps it’s better that way,” Steve said, eyes downcast.</p>
<p>Sam squeezed his hand again and nodded solemnly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve carefully tied off the webbing of the second snowshoe, a bittersweet creation. He was proud of how well they had turned out, but it was their intended use that left him aggrieved. He had to accept this sadness. He had accepted long before that he couldn’t <i>force</i> Sam to remain here, nor did he <i>want</i> to anymore. Oh, he wanted Sam to stay, but not with the jealous possessiveness of those first few days, when he was more monster than man, but with a hope that perhaps, Sam could someday feel the same way he did. He didn’t want to lose that chance. With all his heart, he pleaded silently for him to stay and begged the day not to come when he would set out on the trail down to the village. Perhaps it was too soon, perhaps it was arrogance on his part to believe that he could <i>truly</i> love anyone, but if he was indeed capable of love, then he would say that he loved Sam. </p>
<p>Sam made him smile. Sam listened to him and treated him like a <i>person</i>. Sam helped him work through and make sense of his returning memories, but he had neither flinched from nor put up with his fits of temper. Sam made him want to be a better person, for both of their sakes. For everything Sam had done for him, he tried to return his kindnesses in full, but he found himself a mighty poor soul in comparison. He owed Sam a great debt, and if he could only fulfill it by letting him leave, knowing that there was a chance he might not return, then that was the price he would have to pay. He loved Sam, but Sam deserved the world; he deserved his freedom, his family, his friends, his life as a Knight. He deserved not to be trapped away in a grim castle in the mountains, lost and forgotten by the world.</p>
<p>Steve sniffed a little, blinking away tears he refused to acknowledge.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>------------------</p>
</div>Sam paced his room nervously, running over his mental checklist again and again. Almost a month had passed since he and Steve had located the Howlers’ village on his map, and he was eager to <i>finally</i> get on with his mission now that the snows had abated enough. Eager but anxious. He had grown quite fond of Steve and his company in the months they had spent together, and the idea of leaving Steve tore at him. It was his duty to finish his mission, so he <i>had</i> to go, but having to <i>leave</i> him… He could come back when he had reported back to the Court with what he had learned of Hydra, of course, but how long would that take? Would Steve be understanding? Should he return to Steve before returning to the Court? Would the Court be understanding? Would they send him off immediately on another mission? Would they put him on the task of rooting out Hydra? What if he told them about Steve, that he found that one of the Howlers had been trapped under a curse for seven long years? Would they be able to find a way to break his curse? Would Steve <i>want</i> him to tell them about him?<p>There were so many questions, none with easy answers, and they all came back around to Steve.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>------------------------</p>
</div>The sun rose on a cool, clear morning, the barest hints of early spring in the air. Sam dressed and packed his things, full of nervous energy. A knock on his door and he jumped. Collecting himself, he turned and hurried to answer.<p>“Good morning, Sam,” Steve said with a smile as Sam opened the door.</p>
<p>“Good morning, come in, please; sorry if I’m a bit preoccupied, there’s so much to think about,” Sam answered, stepping back and holding his arm out in welcome. He returned to his desk to fit the last of his things into the makeshift carry-bag he had made.</p>
<p>“I understand that,” Steve said wholeheartedly. He held up the snowshoes in one hand, the other behind his back. “I, uh, tested your snowshoes last night to make sure they’d hold up. I know, what if they’d broken? But they didn’t, they supported me on top of the snow, so they should be fine for you.”</p>
<p>“Oh, thank you,” Sam said, taking them and setting them on the desk next to his bag. He could see how nervous Steve was, how he was trying to appear at ease despite everything under the surface, and it was not helping him one bit.</p>
<p>“I wanted to give you something,” Steve said quickly, pushing the words out forcefully, as if they might take fright and leap back into his mouth.</p>
<p>“I was wondering—” Sam began at the same time.</p>
<p>A pause as the two recollected themselves, each waiting for the other to begin again.</p>
<p>Steve held out his other hand, in it a bundle of rich, blue cloth. “I wanted you to have this,” Steve said.</p>
<p>Sam took the bundle from him, glancing between it and Steve, who wore an expression of nervous excitement and hope. “What is it?” he asked as he turned it over to find an edge.</p>
<p>“It was my cloak,” Steve explained. “From long ago. When I was a Howler. No, no, please, I want you to have it. It should be yours. Go ahead, open it up, take a look.”</p>
<p>Sam nodded, a little overwhelmed by the gift. The cloak was a heavy but supple fabric, hooded, and felt like it would be comfortably warm in this weather. It looked reversible and <i>had</i> to have been expensive. The inner layer was blue-black, a good color for blending into the night. The outer layer was a deep, rich blue like cobalt or lapis, with a shooting star embroidered into it in silver thread and fiery red rays trailing behind it as it rose into the blue.</p>
<p>“This is… wow, <i>thank you</i>,” Sam said, momentarily lost for words. “This is gorgeous. You’re sure you want me to have it?”</p>
<p>“Yes, it should be yours,” Steve replied. “It fits you better than me, and I don’t mean only in size. You deserve so much, and I hope you continue to rise like that star.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, again, it’s wonderful,” Sam said, slipping the cloak over his shoulders and fastening the clasp. “It’s so comfortable, and just the right weight.”</p>
<p>“See? It was meant for you,” Steve said with a laugh to hide the pain rising behind it. “I don’t want to hold you up, I know it’ll be a long trek, but I just wanted to give you that and my hopes for a safe and easy journey. I hope you find them and learn everything you need to know. You have to do what you have to do.”</p>
<p>“When I find the Howlers,” Sam said, “should I tell them about you? Do you want me to let them know I’ve found you?”</p>
<p>Steve shook his head. “No. Not unless they ask. If they don’t know I’m here, if they don’t know what happened to me, maybe it’s best that they not know what I became.”</p>
<p>Sam opened his mouth to speak, stopped, and drew back. He didn’t have the Howlers’ story yet. He was sure there had to be a reason why they hadn’t found Steve, perhaps lingering effects of whatever curse had turned Steve into a beast, but it wasn’t his place to speculate.</p>
<p>“I’ll come back when I’m done, I promise,” Sam said, quickly recovering himself and pulling Steve into a quick embrace.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam woke at first light, slowly at first, then rapidly as he realized he wasn’t in his own bedroom in the castle. Right. The inn. He brought himself back down from the vigilance a Knight on the road cultivated by sleeping in unfamiliar spaces. He was in the village inn and he was quite safe. He had arrived the night before, just after sunset, and the woman behind the inn’s bar had looked surprised to have a visitor, but had quickly settled into the easy charm that innkeepers practiced. She had set him up with a room, asked him if he needed a meal for the night—it was late but she was sure they could put something quick together—and when he had declined, let him know that the inn also served breakfast in the mornings for anyone who needed it. Sam had thanked her and had fallen asleep almost as soon as he had gotten settled in. It had been a long hike, indeed, and his ankle was a bit sorer than he would have preferred, but he had made it safely to the village.</p>
<p>And now, here he was, nearing the end of his mission. All he had to do was find the Howlers and talk to them. He’d have to be tactful. They had retired to this tiny, remote village, so maybe they didn’t want to talk about Hydra, but the threat was returning. Sam hoped they would be easy to find now that he was here, and amiable to his task at hand. Well, there was no use worrying; worrying wouldn’t make anything easier or faster. Sam washed up quickly with the water pitcher provided, dressed, and prepared himself for his day. When he went down for breakfast, he could ask the innkeeper if she knew any of the names on his list and where he could find them.</p>
<p>Descending the stairs already in his travel cloak, ready to eat quickly and get on with his task, Sam caught a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. As he had entered the common room of the inn, a one-armed man with loose, shoulder-length hair had startled, jolting upright in his seat with an audible gasp. Turning to look, and the man was on his feet, crossing directly toward him. Sam readied himself. He hoped it wouldn’t come to a fight first thing in the morning, but he knew sometimes soldiers returned from the war with both visible and invisible wounds, dulling the edge of the pain with drink at any hour of the day.</p>
<p>“Where did you get that cloak?” the man asked, his voice curious rather than angry.</p>
<p>“It was given to me,” Sam said, truthfully but evasively. The man appeared sober and alert, but he was still a stranger.</p>
<p>“That was Steve’s cloak…” the man mused, looking perplexed. He reached out as if he was going to touch it, stopped, thought better of it, and pulled his hand back. “Sorry. I must have been confused.”</p>
<p>“Steve, as in Steve Rogers?” Sam asked, grasping at that thread.</p>
<p>“Yes!” the man said, his eyes going wide. “You knew him? Oh! How rude of me, I’m James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky.” He held out his hand in greeting.</p>
<p>“Sam Wilson,” Sam replied, taking his hand to shake, excitement threatening to overwhelm him. “And James Barnes as in one of the Howlers?”</p>
<p>“Howlers?” Bucky said, looking a bit perplexed. His eyebrows rose slowly and his mouth made a silent oh as if a slow realization dawned on him. He gestured towards his table. “Howlers. Now that does ring a bell. I’d <i>forgotten</i>. How could I have forgotten? Come on, have a seat and I’ll buy you something to eat and we can talk. If that’s ok with you, of course. I have so many questions."</p>
<p>“Of course, as long as I can ask you some questions in return,” Sam agreed, hoping that Bucky or the other Howlers could answer what he needed to know. It wasn’t a good sign that Bucky had managed to forget that he had been part of the Howlers, suggesting that the rest of them, too, might be affected. He wondered if they had been caught up in the curse that had changed Steve and caused him to forget his friends.</p>
<p>“I’ll answer whatever I’m able,” Bucky said. He jabbed his thumb towards the inn’s bar. “You wait here, I’ll make it worth it, I promise. If nothing else, Jim brews the best coffee in the village.”</p>
<p>Sam agreed with a nod, slipping into a chair to wait. Bucky swept off to his task at hand.</p>
<p>A short while later, Bucky returned, two more people in tow. Sam looked up, alert, as they bustled around the table, depositing food and coffee, and pulling up chairs of their own.</p>
<p>“Please, eat first, I’ll introduce everyone,” Bucky said, taking a sip from his own mug of coffee.</p>
<p>Pleasantries were exchanged, breakfast was eaten, and Sam complimented Jim’s coffee. It certainly was the best coffee he’d had in a long time. Sam let Bucky drive the initial conversation, making sure everyone was comfortable, before he began to steer it towards his goal. If Bucky had known that he knew Steve once, but had forgotten that he’d been one of the Howlers, who knew what Jim would remember? None of his intel said that Daniel had been a Howler, but if he had fought Hydra in any capacity, his input would be very welcome. Perhaps, if this conversation went well, they could gather the other Howlers, bring them up to speed, and he could be back at Steve’s castle within a couple days to let him know how everything went. And after that, he’d have to decide what he, what <i>they</i> were going to do…</p>
<p>“Sam? You ok?” Bucky asked. “You looked a little abstracted there.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, it’s just that this next bit might not be the easiest thing to talk about, that’s all,” Sam said and finished off his coffee. “And there isn’t really any way to ease you into it. What do any of you remember about Hydra?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Rumlow uses some ableist and otherwise rude language, be aware.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been an enlightening conversation. A long, winding, interesting, and sometimes difficult one, but enlightening nonetheless. The Howlers had come to this village originally as a base of operations, having driven Hydra back to their mountain stronghold, and had stayed because… well, none of them could remember why they had stayed. It had just felt right? When prompted, their memories of the long fight against Hydra came back, but slowly. Each Howler had expressed dismay in having forgotten, and had attributed it to the aftereffects of defeating as powerful a wizard as the Red Skull had been. </p>
<p>The Howlers had grown in number as the day progressed and had eventually left the inn and crossed the village to the Dugans’ farmstead where they could speak more privately, and have enough room for the lot of them to mingle. They had talked shop at first, then slowly dissolved into more homely chatter as families and friends arrived. Some stayed only long enough for a quick chat, others remained for hours, bringing food and drink and helping keep the various children entertained and away from the worst of the conversations. Sam had been reunited with Faucon and produced the letter that had lost the scrap found in her pack, and they had talked about how he had managed to find them all the way out here. There had been some wonder that his horse had arrived four months earlier than he had, but Sam passed it off as she had run off as the first of the season’s snow began to fall, and he had had to double back to the village he had come from when he couldn’t retrieve her. He showed them his map, too, with its correction, and the delay had been accepted.</p>
<p>He hadn’t mentioned Steve or his castle at all, and no one but Bucky seemed to remember him; he never came up during the conversation. Sometimes Bucky looked like he was almost remembering something, but he never said his name or suggested that there might have been another in their group. Perhaps part of Steve’s curse had been not only to make him forget his friends, but to cause them to forget him, too. An insidious bit of magic. Sam debated, but thought it best not to bring Steve up, lest he have to explain his current state. The Howlers had never lost their camaraderie, despite having been made to forget their history, and having to explain that they had forgotten one of their own? He couldn’t do that to them, not yet.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-----</p>
</div>Sam pulled on his cloak to leave, thanked his hosts for their time and the wonderful dinner he had eaten, and stepped out into the quiet, cold village night. Only a few paces out, and he heard the door open and shut behind him, and Bucky was calling his name. He stopped and turned.<p>“Sorry to hold you up, but I had something I didn’t want to ask you in front of everyone else. I don’t know why, but I seem to remember some things that they don’t,” Bucky said, pulling his own cloak around his shoulders as he came up next to Sam.</p>
<p>“Of course,” Sam replied. “What is it?”</p>
<p>“I know I already asked you about your cloak, and you said someone gave it to you, but is there anything more you could tell me about it? About Steve? If you can’t, I understand,” Bucky said, a sadness creeping into his voice. “I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”</p>
<p>“You remember Steve,” Sam said, not quite a question, gauging the conversation, wondering how much he could or should reveal.</p>
<p>Bucky nodded.</p>
<p>“And none of the other Howlers do?”</p>
<p>“No, and I don’t know why I should be the only one. The last thing I remember of him was sadness. We talked about friendship and love, and,” Bucky said very softly. He pursed his lips, looking pensive. His breath clouded and dissipated. “I… I’m sorry to have stopped you. I shouldn’t put this on you; it’s not your burden to carry. I just hope, if he’s still out there, he’s found what makes him happy. He deserves that.”</p>
<p>Sam watched as Bucky disappeared back into the house, thinking about his words. His hope that Steve had found what made him happy… Even with the isolation and the rocky start, Sam felt that his time with Steve had been well spent. He had enjoyed Steve’s company greatly once he had begun to find himself. Yes, he would say he had been happy. Deep inside him, he had hoped Steve had been happy, too, in their time together. He thought about what he would have to do now, and the time it would take him away from Steve. If he left Faucon with the Dugans—saying that he had one more errand to run, and the snow was too deep up in the mountains for her, but that he would be back to collect her again— he could return to him. He would let him know his plans, tell him that he would seek an answer to his curse at the Court, and return again as quickly as he could. Sam began again his walk back to the inn. The moon was full and bright, the stars were clear, and he felt like everything was finally coming together.</p>
<p>Sam was brought back out of his thoughts by the sound of approaching footsteps. He turned, wondering if Bucky had something else he needed to say. Instead, he saw a sour-looking man in some kind of uniform bearing down on him.</p>
<p>“You,” the man said aggressively, holding up a lantern and pointing at Sam, “you’re not from around here. Identify yourself.”</p>
<p>“Sam Wilson, Knight Errant,” Sam said, holding up his identification medallion. “May I ask who you are?”</p>
<p>“Brock Rumlow, sheriff’s deputy,” the man replied, taking half a step back. As soon as he saw Sam’s medallion, his attitude shifted from hostile suspicion to deferential but not pleased about it. “We don’t get a lot of visitors here, I had to ask, you understand?”</p>
<p>“Yes, of course,” Sam said, putting on a mask of false friendliness to cover the growing distrust of this man. Everything about him said he was the kind who took misadvantage of any shred of power he might be given.</p>
<p>“So, what brings you to this tiny little village?” Rumlow asked. “Everything’s been pretty quiet, and we’re not even on most maps for anyone to find us. Did something happen at the Court?”</p>
<p>“No, just passing through,” Sam answered casually. Truthfully, but not the whole truth. “The Court wants to know anything new that anyone might have heard about Hydra, or any old information that might have been missed the first time around, and there were supposed to be a few veterans who settled down here.”</p>
<p>“Layabouts, more like,” Rumlow sneered. “Yeah, there’s a couple, but you won’t get anything out of them, they’re not exactly model citizens. Cripples and beggars and leeches. Anyway, I don’t think we’ve heard anything about Hydra in years. Good luck, but I don’t think anyone’ll know anything of any use down here.”</p>
<p>Sam had already gotten a good bit of useful information, directly contradicting the deputy’s confident pronouncement. And reflecting on how, earlier that evening, Daniel had explained how he and Bucky had managed to work together to keep his father’s joinery running and successful, despite both of their war injuries, his distrust and dislike of the man grew even further.</p>
<p>“Well, if you or the sheriff or anyone hears anything useful, leave word at the inn. I’ll be off on some other errands, but I’ll be in town for a few days,” Sam said, a little reluctant to give up his information, but wishing to seem bland and unsuspicious.</p>
<p>“Yeah, of course,” Rumlow said, recognizing the end of the conversation. “I’ll just be on my way.”</p>
<p>Sam watched him go, making sure he was <i>actually</i> on his way. He frowned and shook his head before heading back to the inn.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-------------------</p>
</div>Brock resumed his patrol of the village, thinking about his encounter. A Knight Errant, <i>here</i>, in this little village not worth the ink to write its name on the founders’ deed, asking about Hydra. He couldn’t <i>know</i>, could he? He couldn’t. The Court couldn’t know; even their spies couldn’t be that good. Any stranger would stick out like weeds over grass, and there had been no one coming and going aside from the Post, the usual traveling traders, and now this Knight.<p>No, it had to be simply the proximity to the Red Skull’s castle, Brock told himself. Not that he knew where in these godforsaken mountains it was; that information had been blasted from the records, a secret deeper than the mountain valleys.</p>
<p>Brock pulled up short, lantern flame flickering as his arm dropped to his side. What if the Knight knew? He was asking after Hydra; he had come here for a reason. Maybe he knew. Hydra had tried to make inroads, tried to extend little creepers into the Knights Errant, but had received no interest, and sometimes outright hostility. They had to be careful. What if someone had been too forward? Tomorrow morning, at first light, he’d be waiting by the inn for the Knight to emerge, and he’d tail him. What kind of ‘errands’ would he have to run in this place? He’d left his horse at the Dugans, so he either couldn’t be going far, or else he’d be going somewhere a horse couldn’t handle. Like, perhaps, the mountains with their winter’s accumulation of snow?</p>
<p>It was barely a straw, a thread of a hope, but if he could find the castle, soaked through with the magic of Hydra’s great fallen wizard, then it would all be worth it. He and his brethren would no longer have to hide. Hydra would take its place once again and show the world that they were meant to rule. Brock smirked to himself and resumed his patrol. Nothing to do now but wait, rest, and be ready in the morning.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yes, I’m changing Hydra’s symbol a bit, artistic liberty. The setting isn’t coastal enough or modern enough to justify an octopus.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thanking Jim for the provisions and the hospitality and all of the talk from the day before, Sam packed his bag and paid his tab, though he promised to return. Hefting his bag over his shoulder, he set out onto the road again. Back to the castle and back to Steve. It would be a long trek, perhaps bleeding into a second day with the snow and the uphill climb, but he was eager to get back. Was this what love felt like? A warm feeling that spread inside you when you thought of the other person, like sitting by a crackling fire after a cold day? The knowledge that every step he took brought him just that little bit closer. He let that feeling fill him and sustain him. He was going back. He was going to see Steve again.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>----------</p>
</div>Brock followed the Knight’s footprints. He struggled through the deep snow, cursing the Knight’s snowshoes and his lack, but he pushed onwards. A little suffering would be worth it if he was able to claim this jewel of a prize. And besides, if he were far enough back that the Knight didn’t know he was being tracked, that was all the better.<div class="center">
  <p>----------------</p>
</div>Sam reluctantly made camp for the night under the shelter of a rocky overhang on a little cliff protected from the snow. The snow was less deep here, but it was still an obstacle working against him. He could see the castle from here, beckoning him, but the sun was setting, his ankle ached, and frankly, he was tired. He would have to work on getting back into fighting shape on his journey back to the Court, but for now, he would rest. He made a little fire, heated up his travel provisions, and settled in for the night.<div class="center">
  <p>----------------</p>
</div>Brock’s hand rested on the hilt of his dagger, fingers practically twitching with excitement. He crouched, concealed behind a scraggly pine, and debated his options. One: continue on, pushing through the night to reach the castle before the Knight did. He could <i>see</i> the castle now, <i>finally</i>. It was all scorched stone in the moonlight, but it was <i>there</i> for the taking. Two: kill the Knight in his sleep so that he would offer him no more threat. True, the villagers would expect his return, but the mountains were treacherous in winter. Especially now, on the cusp of the seasons. Avalanche, rockfall, wild beast, who could say? It had been a long time since he had last killed for Hydra, but the great serpent thirsted for death and order. With this blood, he could feed it so that its severed heads could begin to grow back and once again reach out over the land to make it Hydra’s. He drew his dagger and crept forward.<p>A glint of moonlight on steel and Brock threw himself down to the ground, sinking into the snow. He clenched his jaw not to cry out at the sudden chill of snow in his clothes and the prick of his dagger into his wrist, hoping he wouldn’t be seen or heard in his prone position. He had thought he was being quiet, but apparently something had awoken the Knight, and he was alert, blade out. Perhaps. Perhaps he should attempt to press on and take the castle. If nothing else, he’d have the high ground and the advantage there. He lay on the ground, tired and miserable, until he could be reasonably certain the Knight would be asleep again. Crawling back toward cover, Brock checked his injury—minuscule, one button severed from his sleeve and lost in the snow, but he was barely even bloodied—and steeled his resolve. He <i>would</i> reach the castle before the Knight, and he <i>would</i> reclaim it for Hydra.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-------------------</p>
</div>The next time Sam awoke, it was properly morning, the early spring birds of the high mountains calling to the dawn. Not whatever had woken him in the dark of night. He’d heard something, that was for certain, but he hadn’t caught sight of it. Perhaps a wolf, maybe there <i>were</i> bears in these mountains, waking from their long winter’s sleep.<p>Or, perhaps another human?</p>
<p>Sam saw the tracks as he got back onto the trail after a quick breakfast. Deep boot prints, struggling through the snow but determined. Had someone followed him? Who? And why? Following the trail briefly back, the prints did seem to follow his neatly enough; they weren’t random. Prints leading toward his shelter, a flattened patch, a depression in the snow as if someone had fallen and struggled. Was this what had woken him? Had someone needed him and he hadn’t found them? But if they had, why wouldn’t they have called out to him? If they had been too weak to cry out, then they wouldn’t have been able to walk away. If they had no voice, they could have come to him so he could see them, but no one had. There were only the two sets of tracks, his and the stranger’s.</p>
<p>Curious, Sam approached the depression for a closer look. There was no blood, it simply looked as if someone had fallen and struggled to right themselves. Boot prints lead up to and away from the spot. Someone had tried to approach him in the night, fallen, and retreated. Not back the way they had come, though, the tracks went up the trail again, towards the castle. No one but he had visited the castle in years, and no one in the village knew where it was either. It had been brought up in conversation, but only with the addition that no one remembered where it was anymore and good riddance, let the evil it had held under Hydra’s rule fall into ruin, forgotten by all. Sam was about to leave, to follow the tracks to the castle, when he saw a dark spot in the snow. It was too round, not like natural wood or stone, and he bent to retrieve it.</p>
<p>A button? Sam turned it over in his hand, inspecting the minuscule piece of wood. It was flat on top with a loop under it and tiny, like it would be used to secure a collar or a shirtsleeve’s cuff. The size precluded much detail, but it appeared to show a delicately carved multi-headed serpent coiled around a skull. Anger flared up in him. This was a <i>Hydra</i> symbol, in both image and use. A tiny button, so easily overlooked, unless one had reason to display it. It could be capped to hide it or covered by the wrist of a glove. Someone in the village was Hydra, and had taken the opportunity to follow him back to the castle. And, worse yet, they now had the lead on him. Sam pocketed the button and set off up the trail at speed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Breathing hard, Sam forced himself to rest for a moment, leaning up against the castle wall and untying his snowshoes. He had made it back in what had to be record time, but he was paying for it. His ankle throbbed and he knew he’d have to rest it later. <i>Later</i>. He didn’t have time now, the Hydra cultist must be here already; he hadn’t passed anyone on the trail, hadn’t seen any evidence of them breaking off. How much of a lead did they have on him? They would have struggled through the snow, but they had pushed on while he had slept. Sam gritted his teeth. He knew he wasn’t to blame; he hadn’t known he was being followed, but he felt like he <i>should</i> have known. Like he should have been more observant, should have realized asking about Hydra could alert their members somehow. He felt helpless that it had happened and he hadn’t been able to stop it. He had to get inside, warn Steve. Steve should be well able to defend himself, but what if he was ambushed? How much animal instinct did Steve have, and how much had been tamed in the time they had spent together?</p>
<p>It wouldn’t do to dwell on everything that <i>could</i> happen. Sam drew his sword and entered the castle, nerves on edge. The castle was a huge place, and without the snow to preserve tracks, how would he find the Hydra cultist? Snow melting off his boots would only leave a partial trail, but he would follow it as long as it lasted. Where would he be most likely to go? Which room had housed the Red Skull when he lived? Had he had a lair, or a laboratory, or whatever place wizards used to hone their craft? If so, where would it have been? Sam hadn’t explored every room in the castle, and there were some it was clear Steve hadn’t touched in years, if ever. The Red Skull had died in this castle, would the cultist seek out the spot like some kind of unholy pilgrimage? Where had it happened? Would Steve remember? He would find Steve first, warn him, and together they would deal with this incursion. Sam pushed forward.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-----</p>
</div>Steve sniffed. Something was different, something was <i>wrong</i>. The air felt charged, somehow, like the castle was reacting to something new. It had felt almost like this on that first night when Sam had arrived, but this… This was like the castle was recognizing something. Like finds like. He growled, low and incensed, dropped to all fours, and sprinted down the castle halls. He knew where the intruder was headed and every fiber of his being rebelled against following them there, but he <i>had</i> to. If Hydra was returning, then it was his duty to quash them before they had a chance to grow again.<p>As Steve approached the door, he could see it had been touched, left carelessly open. He could hear muffled curses beyond, perhaps someone struggling to light a torch against the windowless dark. He gritted his teeth and yanked the door open, hoping to surprise whoever was behind it.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-----</p>
</div>A roar—of pain? of anger?—and Sam looked up, trying to determine where it had come from, where Steve could be. It wasn’t his memory room, it had to have come from higher up. Sam pondered, had he ever been to Steve’s rooms? He didn’t think he had ever asked to visit there, thinking it would be too private, too intimate. Somewhere he was afraid, deep inside him, that he didn’t deserve it and wouldn’t be welcomed. He couldn’t let that hold him back, now. He had to find Steve, make sure he was ok. If he had to apologize for the intrusion, then he would, but now, finding Steve was his priority. He pushed on, looking for the faintest traces, listening for sounds, anything to guide him to Steve.<div class="center">
  <p>-----</p>
</div>A door, ajar, that shouldn’t have been open. Leading into a part of the castle Sam had never seen. A landing, thick with dust, disturbed only recently by feet. A struggle. A stairwell. A tower.<p>Sam hadn’t been here before. Steve avoided this part of the castle, saying it made his hair stand on end, saying it felt like lightning prickling under his skin if he approached the door. The tower was dusty, tall and dark, projecting off the front of the castle like a malevolent horn. A narrow spiral of steep stairs with no windows and the torches in their nooks all long dead and cold. He spent a precious few seconds finding flint and tinder, hoping one of these torches still had enough fuel left to get him to the top. The torch lit and… was that blood in the blurred prints in the dust and grime on the stairs? Sam knelt down, ignoring the complaint in his ankle, and held the torch out to investigate.</p>
<p>A smear of blood, like there had been a struggle, drops continuing up the stairs, a worrying sign. <i>Who</i> had been injured? The stairs had been designed to be defensible, but for a <i>human</i>. If Steve had been in here, he would have been hampered by the closeness of the walls, hard-pressed to defend himself. Sam pushed on.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-----</p>
</div>Sam reached the final ladder leading to the top of the tower, all wariness or hesitation gone. His torch sputtered, giving up the last of its light, and he tossed it down. This was it. He could see sunlight through the tiny gaps in the wood of the hatch, and he grasped the rail of the ladder, placed one foot on the first rung, and prayed his ankle would get him to the top. He could hear the commotion above him, and anxiety gripped him; he needed to be there. He climbed.<p>Giving a tentative push, Sam lifted the hatch just enough to check his surroundings. Boots and paws moved in a precarious dance, and Steve appeared to be limping. Sam threw the hatch open with a clatter and pulled himself up, blinking, into the bright late morning sun.</p>
<p>“You?!” an incredulous voice interjected. </p>
<p>“Sam! You came back!” Steve cried out, both happy and afraid.</p>
<p>In fighting stance, both combatants paused to look at Sam emerging from the hatch, each momentarily distracted from their battle. Steve was wounded, blood staining his trousers from a gash on his thigh. His hands were bloodied too, but Sam couldn’t tell whether it was from being injured, doing injury to his foe, or both. Rumlow had a hideous grin on his face and his sword and dagger were both drawn and reddened. One side of his face bled freely, raked by sharp claws, but he hardly seemed to notice in his furor. One section of the parapet had collapsed, offering no protection from the drop.</p>
<p>“This castle belongs to Hydra, not you, not the Court, no one but Hydra!” Rumlow snarled. “This is where the Red Skull was martyred, his blood, his magic soaked into these very stones, it is <i>ours</i>!”</p>
<p>With that pronouncement, Rumlow twisted around abruptly, dodging a swipe from Steve, and charged at Sam. Sam barely had time to roll out of the way, unclasping his cloak to keep from becoming tangled in it. The hatch fell shut behind him. He heard Rumlow’s sword clash against the stones behind him and drew his own dagger as he rose, regretting not arming himself better in his haste. He was quite skilled with blades large and small, but he was hampered by his ankle, and his opponent was stoked with rage and zealotry.</p>
<p>Grasping the opportunity, Steve pounced, wrapping his arms around Rumlow’s shoulders, pinning his arms to his sides and causing him to drop his sword. Rumlow struggled, writhing and jerking, digging his feet in, trying to get a grip on the rough stone to break free.</p>
<p>“Don’t touch Sam!” Steve yelled. “Your quarrel is not with him; I killed the Red Skull!”</p>
<p>“I’ll deal with you in turn; <i>he’s</i> been asking too many questions. Hydra doesn’t like leaks. Him, you, whoever ratted on us in the first place, you’ll all be dealt with. Hydra will rise again!” Rumlow blustered, still twisting in Steve’s grasp. Freeing one arm, he jabbed his dagger wildly back, cackling as he felt resistance as it sunk into flesh.</p>
<p>Steve roared in pain, releasing Rumlow to clutch at his side. Rumlow dashed free, turned back, dropped his shoulder, and charged, hitting Steve square in the chest. Steve stumbled, forced back towards the gap in the parapet. Wounded leg collapsing under his weight, he pitched back. His arms flailed, he swayed forward, nearly righting himself, hands grasping for a hold. His feet skidded on blood, loose stone, neither, both. He fell, claws raking scars into the stone, and disappeared over the edge of the tower.</p>
<p>“Steve!” Sam screamed. No! He <i>couldn’t</i> have come this far only to lose him now. This couldn’t be happening! He moved forward, he had to get over to the edge, had to try to see what had happened to Steve. Maybe, if his fall had been clean enough, he could make a sled, something, <i>anything</i>, bring him back to the village and maybe someone there could help him.</p>
<p>Rumlow picked up his sword and stepped between Sam and the broken parapet. “Oh, I’m sorry, did that monster <i>mean</i> something to you? What was he, your <i>pet</i>? Your dancing monkey?”</p>
<p>“Steve was a better man than you’ll ever be,” Sam said, trying to keep his emotions from overrunning him. It wouldn’t do him any good to lose his head and give his foe the advantage.</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s how it is?” Rumlow sneered. “Well, you’ll be joining him soon enough.”</p>
<p>Stepping back without conceding ground, Sam stooped briefly to pick up his cloak, hastily wrapping it around his arm to act as a sort of makeshift shield. He began to circle Rumlow warily, looking for openings, weaknesses. His opponent was erratic, with no particular art to his stance, but he was strong and fueled by his fervor. As they circled, darted, slashed, dodged, Sam began to see how Rumlow fought. Though there was no pattern to his attacks, his body language betrayed him, speaking his intentions before he moved. Sam much preferred to subdue rather than kill, but every minute he would spend trying to outlast Rumlow, to wait for his rage to fail him and leave him exhausted, was a minute lost trying to see if he could save Steve. He would either have to make a swift and decisive strike, or take the risk of trying to disarm him. </p>
<p>Sam readied his dagger and coiled himself like a spring, ready to burst forth as soon as the opportunity presented itself.</p>
<p>Rumlow raised his sword to swing.</p>
<p>A hand, an arm, bloodied golden-blond fur, rose up from beyond the edge of the broken parapet. Steve grunted, clawing his way back up the rough stones and reached out. Grasping at Rumlow’s ankle, he gave a mighty yank and pulled his enemy’s foot out from under him. Rumlow cried out, unbalanced. He dropped his sword, not expecting a strike from below, and fell heavily backwards. His head struck the stones with a dull thump.</p>
<p>Dropping his dagger and shaking his hand free from the cloak, Sam rushed over to help pull Steve back onto solid ground.</p>
<p>“I saw you fall, how did you…?” Sam asked.</p>
<p>“Claws,” Steve murmured, his face contorted with pain. “More handy than you might realize. I caught myself, managed to hang on. Climbed back up. Is he…?” he gestured weakly towards Rumlow’s unmoving body.</p>
<p>“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Sam said, helping Steve to lay down. His hands went gently to the wound on Steve’s side. He’d need cloth, something to stop the bleeding. “<i>You’re</i> my priority. Where all are you hurt? How badly? If I can get you to the village, they should have a local healer, <i>someone</i> who can help; I just have to patch you up enough to get there.”</p>
<p>Steve just shook his head.</p>
<p>“No, Steve,” Sam said staunchly. “You’re not giving up, I’ll <i>find</i> a way.”</p>
<p>“You came back,” Steve said with a weak smile. He raised one hand, tenderly brushing the backs of his fingers over Sam’s cheek. “I got to see you again. I just had to make sure you’d be ok. I got to see you again.”</p>
<p>“<i>No</i>,” Sam said again, shaking his head vigorously and trying to hold back tears. “I can’t lose you, I just got you back.”</p>
<p>“It’s ok, Sam, we had a good run, didn’t we? You helped me more than you’ll know. I had a good time, and… I hope you did too,” Steve said, his voice getting quieter. </p>
<p>Sam took Steve’s hand and squeezed, unable to form words, his brain was going in so many different directions. This couldn’t be happening, he just got Steve back. He was going to find a way to get the curse lifted, they had been so <i>happy</i>, like they had been <i>meant</i> to find each other and grow together. And now everything they had made together was being ripped away.</p>
<p>“But we were supposed to have more than this,” Sam said, choking up. “I love you, Steve.”</p>
<p>“You do?” Steve asked, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Sam said, his voice wetly quiet but intense. “I know we didn’t start out right, but then everything came together. I just… thought we’d have more time.”</p>
<p>“I love you too,” Steve said, struggling but forcing the words out. “I didn’t want to tell you before, didn’t want to… ruin what we had.”</p>
<p>Sam opened his mouth to speak again, but was stopped by a sudden, blinding flash of blue light. It was like a tiny bolt of lightning had split the air between Steve and himself. Then, another flash, larger and brighter. Steve’s grip failed and his hand slipped out of Sam’s as a third, even brighter, flash bloomed between them. Sam held his hand up to shield his eyes, unsure what was happening and unwilling to leave Steve’s side. A gust of wind swept over and around the tower, pushing Sam away from Steve, and then Steve’s body began to glow. Faint at first, growing more intense by the second, pulsing like a heartbeat, the glow enveloped him.</p>
<p>Sam watched, spellbound. He didn’t know if he couldn’t move, or simply didn’t want to. All he could do was watch and wonder as Steve glowed brighter and brighter until he couldn’t look anymore, shutting his eyes against the intense light. Then, a sound like a sigh, a release, a relief, and the light began to fade. Sam blinked as his vision began to return.</p>
<p>Where Steve’s bloodied but familiar furred form had laid just moments before, there was now a man, dressed in the same clothes Steve had been wearing, unconscious but unblemished, with pale skin and hair the same golden blond as Steve’s fur—was that Steve? Was that what he had looked like before he had been cursed?</p>
<p>“Steve?” Sam asked gently, kneeling next to the man—he <i>had</i> to be Steve, there was no other explanation. “Steve, wake up.”</p>
<p>Steve groaned. His eyes fluttered, blinked, and then focused on Sam. He smiled, warm and broad. “Sam? What happened? I feel… different.”</p>
<p>Sam helped him up to his knees, he seemed too weak to stand yet. Steve braced one hand on his knee, gripping Sam’s other hand like he never meant to let go. Sam reached out to touch his cheek, like he still couldn’t quite believe it was real. No snout. No fur—maybe a little stubble, but no <i>fur</i>.</p>
<p>“Steve, you’re <i>human</i> again,” Sam said, his voice cracking a little. “You <i>did</i> it.”</p>
<p>“No,” Steve smiled, “I couldn’t have done it without you, Sam. I love you. I have loved you, for a while now, but I was too afraid to say it. I hoped you felt the same, thought you might, but I couldn’t be sure. I was too afraid to say anything, but then you said it and I knew you meant it.”</p>
<p>Steve pushed himself to his feet, wobbling a little, and embraced Sam. His arms were warm and strong, and Sam hugged him back just as tightly, like he never wanted to let go.</p>
<p>“Not to ruin this moment, but it’s kind of cold out here and I’m not used to not having fur,” Steve said, shuffling his bare feet over the stones.</p>
<p>Sam picked up the cloak, shook it out, and swept it around both of them. He lifted Steve in a bridal carry, and Steve linked his hands behind Sam’s shoulders.</p>
<p>“Better?” Sam asked.</p>
<p>“Much better. Now, can I kiss you?” Steve asked with a cheeky grin.</p>
<p>“Absolutely,” Sam replied, smiling back in kind.</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Epilogue</h2></a>
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    <p>"So, it's an official post you got out here?" Bucky asked Sam, watching as Steve hung the new sign over Bucky and Daniel's door, ladder set carefully to avoid the new spring flowers sprouting along the walk.</p>
<p>"Yep," Sam replied. "Turns out, the Court thinks it would be a good idea to demolish that castle before anyone else gets <i>ideas</i> about it. And who better to oversee the process than the two people who lived there the longest?"</p>
<p>"It's the right thing to do," Steve called down over his shoulder. "And it gives us the perfect excuse to stick around without Sam having to retire from service or flout the Court. After all, who knows how long it'll take to take down an entire castle? We could get really comfortable, living here."</p>
<p>"Very true," Bucky chuckled, hand on his hip. "Well, I'm glad you two are happy sticking around. And Steve, I mean, it's been a while as it is, but I haven't seen you this happy in a long time. You and Sam, you're good for each other. I'm happy for you two."</p>
<p>"Yeah, me too," Sam said with a smile and a nod.</p>
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